Winchester Single Shots
by darksupernatural
Summary: Group Challenge/Co-write. A series of hunts, times in the boys lives. Lots of hurt!Winchester. Sequel of sorts to Moments In Time. Chapters two through nine belong to the other players. See list in chapter 1.
1. The Good Friend

**Scene writer: Emerald-Water**

**Responder: Darksupernatural**

**A/N: Hey everyone. Here's the start of that project that we've all been working so hard on to bring you all a series of incredible one shots. The Winchester Single Shots( shout out to my husband here for the awesome title). The players, a completely talented group of writers each with different strong points, have come together to play in my sandbox, with Kripke's characters. Each chapter will be a new story and each story has two writers, one that came up with the 'seed' of the story, a scene that got the responder's imagination going, and the other then worked it into a one shot for your enjoyment. We hope we do both you and our boys justice.**

**So watch for a bunch more updates from Sammygirl1963, Blue Peanut M and M, DancerInTheDark101, Vonnie836, Soncnica, Merisha, Emerald-Water, V.R. Jennings and myself. Thanks so much girls, for making this a blast for me and taking to this like all your other stories, with the enthusiasm of someone who loves what they do! **

**Please remember to review for each of us. We love to know what you think. **

**A little side note here, Soncnica, HAPPY BIRTHDAY SWEETIE! Lee and I worked this story for you. We really hope you enjoy! **

**This is set in Season Two. Not episode specific, but A.J****. (after John) **

**Warning: a little language.**

**The Good Friend**. Part one of **Winchester Single Shots**

Sonya handed Bryce another beer, smiling as he popped the tab on the can with a grin on his face. He tipped the beer to his lips and swallowed half the can before dropping his hand to rest the can on his knee. He released a ground shaking belch making Sonya reach out and smack him on the back of the head.

"What?! Dude, college life rules! We're old enough to get friggin' drunk and too damn young to care!"

"Bryce, you're a moron." Sonya deadpanned good naturedly, shaking her head, giggles shaking her shoulders. The front door of the cottage opened and Trey came through quietly. He watched as Megan, Sonya, Bryce, Lila, and Jamie teased each other. A feral grin teased his lips.

Jamie stood from the couch and went to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of beer. Trey, the starting quarterback of their school's football team, turned in his direction as the bottle was tossed his way. Trey allowed it to bounce off his chest and crash to the floor to shatter in a pool of broken glass and fizzing beer. Sonya stood from the couch, her wide blue eyes on Trey and Jamie as Jamie cursed.

"Dude, what the friggin' hell?! My grandma coulda caught that!"

"Not thirsty." Trey answered, his voice slightly raspy.

"So you completely waste a bottle? You egotistical sonuva…"

"I'm hungry." Trey's features morphed into a maniacal grin as his skin slowly turned a dense black. He jumped on Jamie, taking him hard to the floor as he began to beat him. Trey's hands turned into clawed talons, the skin turning black as the deep color bled to his distorted fingers.

"Trey, what the fuck?" Megan said incredulously. Trey's head lifted as his claws ripped out Jamie's throat, the blood cooling instantly as energy was pulled in, satiating the hunger a small amount. Malicious eyes lifted in a face that was completely black, the eyes soon turning to the darkest pools of black energy. His head snapped around to glare malevolently at the others, a feral black smile, little more than a slit in an equally black face.

"I'm still hungry!"

"That's not Trey! That's not Trey!" Bryce stammered as Megan and Lila began to scream. Bryce stood from the couch and grabbed the girls, heading for the door. The creature was on them, tearing and pulling them to pieces. Sonya ran from the cottage as fast as her feet could carry her. The last words she heard above the gurgling screams was now Jamie's voice, his dead, rasping voice.

"I'm still hungry!"

The black, sleek car drove slowly down the muddy back road; the wipers doing a steady back and forth motion to clean the windshield. The car's occupants were quiet, tense, alert. They were on a hunt tonight, but both were unprepared for what happened next.

Dean braked hard as right in front of them a young man staggered onto the road, the expletives on his tongue, however, remained caught in his throat. The man, in his late teens, looked dazedly at the bright headlights of the car. He was literally drenched in blood, his face, tattered shirt, jeans. All bloody.

"Holy…" Sam whispered, breathless, and both opened the doors of their car, slowly closing in on the man.

"You okay?" Dean asked cautiously.

Eyes blinked at him and Dean knew they had been had, and at the same moment the face of the youth turned into a mad sneer.

"I'm hungry…" it huskily replied, as it turned, shoved Sam hard and ran.

Dean could see it turning black seconds before it vanished between the trees.

Rain fell heavily from the dark sky, soaking the ground. The loud splashes drowned out almost every other sound of the forest. She sat there, holding her breath as she strained her ears to listen for the footsteps and the rustling of the leaf. _Please don't find me! Please don't find me!_ _Please don't find me!_ The never-ending mantra was repeated by her mind.

It was supposed to be a fun week. They had rented the little cottage to celebrate New Year's Eve… but then…

Nearby a branch broke and pulled her out of her thoughts, the images that assaulted her. She panted in fright, jumping to her feet and started to run. But she didn't get far before she was tackled from behind. In pure panic she struck out at her assailant, hitting something soft, but to no avail. Her attacker was much stronger then she was and wrestled her down. A sharp stab ran through her shoulder as her arm was pinned behind her back and she screamed at the pain. Then she felt hot breath in her neck and the voice of one of her friends hissing into her ear. "I'm hungry…"

His breath went in and out, little white puffs of exhalations forming in front of his face as he hurried down the path. They had split up at the last fork, him taking the right path, while Dean continued the left.

He stumbled, barely catching himself and stopped, trying in vain to ease his gasping.

That's when he heard it. A soft keening sound accompanied by a pleasured growl.

Sam controlled his breathing and eased forward silently, gun drawn, listening for the sound again. When he saw them his breath caught in his throat.

The thing on the girl's back seemed to absorb the light around it like a black hole. Its claws were running down the girl's back slowly and he saw her arch her back against the pain inflicted on her.

As if sensing someone watching it, the dark creature stopped its torture and turned to Sam, blue-black eyes flashing in sick delight, as a sneer crept on the thing's face. It turned on him without haste, letting go of the girl.

"I'm hungry!" the creature wheezed and with movement so fast Sam couldn't follow it with his eyes, it advanced.

* * *

Dean stood at the entrance of the little cottage, his hand clamping over his mouth as he took in the scene. Four mutilated corpses. Staggering forward, looking out to not step in one of the blood-splatters he slowly bent, looking at the first one, a young man.

His throat was cut, ear to ear, while a huge chunk of flesh seemed to be missing at the boy's shoulder, a claw-mark across his face making it impossible to recognize his features.

He proceeded through the room, ignoring the sick sticky-sweet smell, shutting out the fact that he looked at nothing more than teenagers… a few college age kids with what would have been full lives ahead of them. He felt fury race through his blood.

"Right out of one of those stupid movies, gore and blood and screaming teenagers…" he muttered, taking in a deep breath as he stepped out into the cool, rainy night.

Snapping open his cell-phone to call his brother he flinched hard as a gun-shot echoed through the woods.

"Crap!" before he knew it he was running again with his gun in his hand.

_Let him be okay! Let him be okay! Let him be okay!_

Dean barreled through the woods, his breath coming quickly from a combination of adrenaline, fear for his brother and the second headlong flight into the "Freakin' woods after stupid teenagers who don't watch enough freakin' stupid scary movies." Dean gave voice to his thoughts as he lunged over a fallen tree.

"Sammy!" Dean called, the last syllable of his brother's familiar nickname breaking as his breath caught in his dry throat. "SAMMY!"

She sat up, wincing at the pull of her abused shoulder, the scratches that adorned the flesh beneath her torn shirt. A feeling of being drained, tired beyond imagining ripped through her and left her shuddering. She watched on in fear as the thing wearing her friend's face tackled the tall guy to the ground. His gun went off, the bullet striking the creature with a hollow sound.

Sam watched on as white rings, resembling a ripple in a puddle caused by a raindrop, expanded their way over the flesh that was so black it more resembled a void than the teenager he remembered seeing in the headlights of the Impala. Sam shoved at the shoulder area of the creature that was no longer human. He felt cold spreading through his fingers, numbness spreading through his hands. He shoved hard, the energy he expended being greedily sucked in.

"Hungry. I'm so hungry." Sam watched the thing's mouth moving, a black void of nothing, like a slit in a black drape that exposed the darkest night behind the window. Sam felt black hands, cold hands, come down on his throat, his breath pulled from his lungs as a deep cold and a mind and body numbing lethargy settled heavily into him. Sam watched in helpless horror as the black face shifted into that of a red headed girl, with freckles across the bridge of her nose and vibrant green eyes before it spoke "I can feel it. You'll sustain me for a long time…" The face bled back in to the formless black mass.

She sat there, seeing the guy that tried to save her struggle in vain as he fought the black thing, trying to keep it away. Her scuffed hand grappled in the leaves around her, finding the fallen tree branch that she'd landed on when she'd been tackled. Her shaking fingers curled around it and she grasped it, picking up the weight that seemed too heavy for her tired body. She eased to her feet and walked quietly to where the black thing was focused on the guy, black, seemingly insubstantial hands closing tightly around his throat as he fought and got weaker. She straightened and swung the branch hard. She whimpered as the branch connected and vibrations rippled up through her arms and into her scratched back. It worked though, the thing's black as night hands were ripped from the guy's throat and he was knocked away from him. It scrambled up and took off after growling at her.

The guy pulled in a panting breath, his head topped with disheveled brown hair lifted and then fell back to the dry leaves as he caught his breath. She dropped the stick and fell to her knees as she heard another voice in the distance, shouting, followed closely by the echo of "_What the hell?!" _and a gunshot.

"_Sammy!" _She heard in the distance. _"SAM!"_

The guy lifted his head and looked at her before pulling in another breath and pushing himself up on his elbows. "DEAN!" he barked out, his voice echoing through the woods. She jumped. "Sorry." He said, lowering his voice. "Are you okay?" he asked as he reached for her and touched her shoulder.

"Y-yeah. I think so."

"I'm Sam."

"So I gathered. I'm Sonya."

She leaned a little closer to him, her cold, tired body wanting warmth and rest.

"Sam!"

"Here Dean!" Sam yelled as Dean's footsteps and calls got closer. Dean walked through a gap in the trees and into the clearing, his gun up and at the ready. Sam stood slowly and pulled Sonya to her feet, taking his jacket off and, after shaking off dirt and leaves, putting it over her torn, bloody shirt.

"Dean, this is Sonya."

She nodded once. "My friends, they're… that thing…whatever… it got them, didn't it?"

Dean swallowed and ran a hand over the back of his neck. "Yeah. I'm sorry." Sonya felt a tear, a single hot tear, work its way down her flushed cheek before she sniffed and lifted her head again.

"What was it?"

"We don't know." Sam said softly.

"But we're gonna find out." Dean ground out between clenched teeth.

* * *

Sam looked up from the laptop. "I think I know what it is." He said quietly, his eyes shifting to take in Sonya's sleeping form where she'd curled up on his bed. She was wearing his gray tee shirt, the soft fabric hanging nearly to the knees of her dirty jeans. Dean stood from the other bed where he was cleaning the guns that had been fired and walked around the table to look at the computer screen over Sam's shoulder.

"Soul seeker?"

"Yeah, kinda makes sense here. From the lore it was said to literally rip souls from bodies in a bloody show. It likes the souls of sinners," Sam read the screen "'feeding off the corruptness that blackens the soul.' It can change into a walking embodiment of the soul." Sam sat back from the laptop. "Dude, ya said on the way back here that you saw the cabin, was there a red headed girl?"

"What was left of her." Dean cringed.

Sam's lips thinned. "The soul seeker turned into her for a few seconds."

"Why the hell would something like that go after college kids?"

"It's always hungry. The souls don't sustain it long. The more evil the person, the longer it can be sustained. Was probably just passing through."

"That explains why it took Trey first then." Sonya said, sitting up on the bed. "He was using drugs to be the best quarterback in the state. Beating the drug tests too."

"We're gonna get this thing before it gets too far away." Dean said, stowing his pistol in the waistband of his jeans.

"What? You guys wanna go after this thing?"

"It's kind of our job."

"Sucks to be you guys, doesn't it?"

"Ya got that right." Sam said, smiling at Sonya.

"We'll take you home."

"No! No freaking way. This thing killed my friends. I want to see it on the receiving end of some major kick ass."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! No way in hell is that gonna happen. You're not going with us."

"The hell I'm not!" Sonya stormed out of the motel room, Sam's tee shirt swishing around her hips.

"Dude, I'm gonna tie her to the freakin' car." Dean cursed, walking towards the door behind Sonya.

"Dean, wait…" Sam said, grabbing his arm to stop him. "The soul seeker, it said something to me."

"Come again?"

"It said that…that I would… sustain it for a long time."

"So what, it's another freakin' demon spouting off about you goin' dark side? It's bullshit Sam. That's all. Nothin' bad's gonna happen to you while I'm around. Its lyin' man. That's what the hell they do."

"I think it'll come after me again. If we play this right I can corner it and you can…"

"Are you seriously saying what the hell I think you're sayin', Sam?" Dean shook his had emphatically. "No freakin' way are you gonna be bait. You're not some damn piece of meat!"

"Dean, I…"

"Shut up Sam. You hear me, shut up! You keep an eye on the girl, you freakin' hear me?! No way am I gonna dangle you in front of this thing. It's the only thing dyin' tonight!" Dean stormed outside and got in the car. Sam followed, his eyes determined.

Dean sat in the car, his hands white knuckled on the wheel, engine rumbling in the background of silence. Sonya sat in the back, her blue eyes flitting from one brother to another.

_I just lost dad. No fuckin' way I'm losin' you Sammy. _Dean thought as he forced his hands to loosen on the wheel and shifted the car from park. "Let's find this sonuvabitch." Dean said.

He peeled out on to the road outside the motel and turned in the direction they'd come, soon turning off onto the rutted dirt road that led to the cottage. He glanced in the rearview mirror to see Sonya sitting behind Sam, her chin in her small hand as she stared out the back window into the woods, her eyes searching for the creature.

Dean pulled into the space in the grass where the big red SUV still sat. "That's Trey's car." Sonya said quietly.

"The bastard coulda took it and left town easily enough. Why didn't he? I'm sure he knows we're hunters by now."

"I told you why, Dean." Sam said softly.

"Yeah, yeah. Well, he ain't getting you, so drop it Sam." Dean shut off the engine. "Sonya, you know what's in there. You can stay in the car…"

"No. They are…were my friends. I need to get the police up here. I need to see, so I can tell them what happened."

"And that would be?" Dean asked.

"There's a lot of bears in these here woods." Sonya said, faking a backwoods accent, as she got out of the Impala, a grim look on her face. She took a deep breath and walked unfalteringly up to the cabin. Sam caught up to her with his long strides and pushed open the door when she finally hesitated. She gasped and sobbed once, her eyes misting up. The first thing she saw was Jamie, on his back where he'd fallen, his throat ripped, flesh missing. Vacant brown eyes stared up from a face scratched nearly beyond recognition. She stepped around the gore and walked quietly to the living area where the others lay in a heap, blood soaking the wooden floor. Megan's head lay across Bryce's legs and Lila's arm was ripped nearly from her shoulder. Her hair, normally palest blonde, was burgundy with clotted blood, her chest ripped open.

"I think…I think I've seen enough." She said, her face paling. Sam stepped in and grabbed her arm, directing her around the mess and out the door where he sat her on the chopping block beside the small wood pile, crouching down beside her.

"Are you gonna be okay?" She lifted her head, tears gathering that she blinked away.

"No. They weren't perfect, but they were my best friends. I wanted a special New Years to remember; now all I wanna do is forget. It hurts, y'know?"

"The pain fades. It doesn't go away but it does fade."

"I want this…whatever… I want it to pay for my friends."

"It will."

"Trey left the keys in the car. I'm gonna take it back to campus. It's about four hours away. Do you think you and Dean can…?"

"Oh, yeah. It won't see sunrise."

"Sam, be careful, huh?"

"Yeah. You too."

Sam walked Sonya to the Explorer and helped her inside. She shut the door and rolled down the window. "Seriously, be careful Sam. You and Dean. I wanna see you again."

"You will. Lock the doors and don't stop." Sonya rolled up the window and Sam heard the locks click before the engine fired up. She backed out on to the muddy road and turned in the direction of town.

"Sammy?"

"Sonya is going to get police up here. Figures we have four hours to kill the bastard."

"Plenty of time. Let's go find the sonuvabitch." Sam pulled his glock and he and Dean circled the cabin and entered the woods. After several minutes of walking, Dean crouched down. "I don't freakin' believe it."

Sam stepped around Dean and looked down. "Blood. Think it belongs to Trey? Sonya said that he was outside and came back different. That thing got him somewhere around here." Dean followed the splatter trail and soon spoke again.

"Yeah. It's Trey. Damnit."

"What Dean?"

"Ripped to pieces." Dean said, putting the back of his gun hand to his mouth.

"Damnit." Sam echoed. Off in the distance a branch snapped. Sam's head whipped up at the sound and he stood quickly. The soul seeker took off through the woods, once again using the powerful build of the quarterback to its advantage. "Dean!" Sam cried, taking off at a sprint.

"Damnit Sam!" Dean cried, running after his brother.

Sam ran through the trees, dodging low hanging branches and jumping fallen logs as he followed the creature, it's now black form lending it some camouflage in the moonlit night. It seemed to pull the light to it, sucking the energy from the night, the blue light of the moon glinting off black skinned shoulders. It put on a burst of speed and disappeared. Sam stopped running and leaned his hands on his thighs to catch his breath. "Damnit." Sam stood, turning as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Dean caught up with him and grabbed his arm, spinning him again.

"What the fuck?! Didn't we just get done talking about this Sam?!"

"You talked. I never said anything." Sam said, pulling his arm from Dean's grip.

"You sonuvabitch." Dean said, his eyes flashing angrily. He stowed his gun in his waistband with a shaking hand. "I can't believe you're doing this. After everything that just happened, you're being the good hunter now. Is that it? Still thinking 'What would dad want me to do?' That it Sam?"

"Dean, that thing's evil. It needs to die!"

"Yeah well, same's been said about you. How true is it?"

"That's not fair and you know it." Sam said quietly, blue green eyes snapping to match his brother's green ones.

"Sam, I don't wanna lose you! I mean, before dad died, that freakin' demon beat the hell outta you, then yellow eyes possessed dad and…

"And I almost lost you." Sam said, staring hard at Dean, moisture building in his eyes.

"Can't do it Sammy. Won't. I won't let you go off half cocked and leave me to clean up the pieces of you. I can't." Dean said, lowering his eyes to the leaf litter along the forest floor. He stilled and his eyes scanned the surroundings. "Oh hell."

Sam spun and took in what Dean was looking at. "What?"

"Damn thing doubled back. Led us in a circle." Dean stood and pulled his gun once more. "Sam, we need to stay close and…umph!" Dean grunted as the soul seeker barreled into him from behind a tree, taking him hard to the ground. His head landed hard on a tree branch and he shuddered once, falling still beneath the heavy body of the quarterback. It stood, advancing slowly on Sam, Trey's face visible.

"You'll feed me… I'm hungry!" it sneered, an insane look on the kid's face. A feral grin twisted his mouth. Sam backed up, pulling his gun. He fired once, making the seeker stagger and again watching as the energy from the bullet was sucked in greedily. It launched itself at Sam, tackling him as its face bled to black, eyes glowing blue white.

"Hungry." It rasped, closing it's hands on Sam's throat. He felt the cold deep in his bones, settling in as he lifted the pistol and fired point blank into the chest of the quarterback. The seeker flinched before it gripped Sam's hand with a freezing, blackened talon, shoving his hand hard against the ground and dislodging the pistol from Sam's fingers as the talon sliced deep into his wrist. Sam grunted in pain as the gun skittered away.

"You'll sustain me…" The soul seeker leaned over Sam, straddling him as the face morphed from the black void to the blond girl, her blue eyes dancing with mirth. "I like you a lot." she said, her long pale blond hair catching the moonlight. "I'm so hungry." she said, leaning over him. Her hands, now pale skinned with long fingers and burgundy nails raked down the side of Sam's face, painfully drawing blood from three shallow scratches. Sam winced and fought again as her nails dug into the side of his neck. She leaned closer to him and opened a gash just above his collarbone with a nail that was now a black talon. Sam felt cold seep into him through the wound. "Guh, get off me… bitch!"

"Hungry!" She said, her voice turning raspy as her face bled to black, back into the formless shadow that was deeper than a black hole. The seeker clawed at Sam's chest, tearing his shirt and drawing more blood. It leaned in and opened a gaping black maw of a mouth. Sam felt lethargy slam into him, its talons ripping into him, pulling him out from inside, as his blood flowed. The seeker leaned closer, its mouth hovering over the open wound as it pulled Sam's energy from him. It growled in pleasure as its next sustenance flowed into the black void.

"Hey!" The seeker looked up and the sound of a gunshot echoed through the forest, sending winter birds to the sky in fright. "Get off my brother you sonuvabitch!" The soul seeker flinched, the flow of energy stilling as it collapsed against Sam's chest, blue light arching through it as if exposing its veins from within. It began to crumble along the jagged lines of light, turning to dust. The seeker fell to pieces, surrounding Sam's still body with small piles of gray grit that stirred with the night breeze. Dean kicked up the dust as he fell to his knees beside his too still brother.

"Sammy? Sam!" He said as he pulled Sam's head into his lap. "Aw, God, you're a mess." Dean pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and held it to the worst of Sam's injuries, the gash at his collarbone. Dean felt for a pulse with the other hand, holding his breath. _Thu-thump._

"Atta boy." Dean said as he released the held breath on a sigh of relief. "Hey Sammy. C'mon. Need ya to wake up dude."

Sam's eyes moved beneath their closed lids before blue green finally made an appearance. "Nnhh, De'n?"

"Scared the shit outta me little brother."

"M'sorry."

"Ya better be. That might be the only thing that keeps me from royally kicking your ass." Dean shrugged and grinned. "That and the fact that you look like you went ten rounds with a freakin' bobcat." Dean stood and helped Sam to his feet. Sam leaned heavily against Dean, straightening after he felt Dean stagger beneath his weight.

"Dude, you okay?" Sam asked after he got his breath back.

"Nothing a bottle of aspirin won't fix. Come on; let's get the hell outta here before the cops storm the place." Dean said as he stepped forward and scattered the gray dust with is boots, making it nearly invisible. They began to walk slowly, side by side, along a game trail, each lost in thought. They circled the cabin and came up to the Impala from behind. There were no cop cars in sight.

Sam and Dean slid into the car and Dean fired the engine, backing out on to the rutted road. They drove slowly back to the motel.

* * *

Sam answered the knock on the motel room door, carefully keeping his glock down behind his thigh. He smiled and stowed the weapon as Sonya grinned up at him. "Hey."

"Hey." she said. He opened the door and Dean looked up from where he reclined against the headboard, once again cleaning weapons. Sonya ran a finger gently over the scratches that marred Sam's face. "I'm glad to see you both in relatively one piece."

"Did you get the police to buy the bear?"

She grimaced. "They didn't have a whole lot of trouble believing it since one had broken into the cabin while you guys were hunting that thing down. It was drawn in by all the blood I guess." she sat on the bed Sam had occupied and he sat beside her. "Please tell me that thing is not going to hurt anyone else, ever again?"

"No worries there." Dean said. "It's taken care of."

"So this is really what you two do?"

"It's a wonderful life." Dean said.

"What Dean means is that someone has to do it. We both got pulled in pretty young. It's all we know."

"Must be rough."

Sam looked at Dean. "It has its moments. But, nah, not really."

Sonya leaned over and kissed Sam's cheek beneath the scratches. "Thank you." She said when Sam's face flamed. Dean grinned. She stood and crossed the short distance between the beds, kissing Dean's cheek also. "You too Dean." Sonya walked to the door. "The funeral for my friends is tomorrow. Thanks for making sure someone who really knows them is around to remember them." Sonya walked through the open door, and got into the red Explorer. Sam and Dean stepped out on the sidewalk. Sonya rolled down the window. "Trey was my brother. I loved him, still do. I'm just sorry he was evil enough to be touched by that thing. We all have some darkness inside; don't let it catch up with you guys. Take care." She gave a little wave and a sad smile before she backed out of the motel parking lot.

"Good advice." Dean said. He tapped Sam on the chest, careful of the scabbed over scratches.

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"How did you kill that thing anyhow? I shot it like three times."

"I remembered the last time I almost lost you to an evil soul suckin' sonuvabitch. Shot it in the head while it was feeding."

"Oh."

"C'mon, let's hit the road."

**A/N: This is the first of a total of nine chapters for this round. The others will follow. We hope you enjoy this and the rest of round one of Winchester Single Shots and please leave a review! We hope this will be a nice, ongoing project. We'd love to know if you're enjoying the read! Don't forget to leave a review for me and go check out the other girls as they post over the next day or so. Thanks so much!  
**


	2. Rain

**Rain.**

**Summary. . . . . . A hunt that was supposed to be easy, turns bad as Dean fails to listen to Sam's doubts.**

**Disclaimer. . . . . . Just enjoying my time playing in Kripke's sandbox.**

**Blue Peanut M And M's notes. . . . . . . Well darksupernatural came up with this amazingly crazy idea to gather a group of writers together off of the site to create a series of one shot's with two differences: 1, each writer was to come up with a scene before passing it along to another to finish: And 2, they had to be as descriptive as possible. This one shot contains the original scene that she wrote to promote the idea, which she rather graciously passed my way- okay, okay I begged her for it- happy now? I hope I have done justice to what you first wrote, and I'm curious, did I take it the way you would have? Thanks to everyone who has taken time to read the chapters before this, and for perusing this one too. Also thanks to the rest of the WOS gang, for the laughs and the support, I can't wait to read the rest of these amazing stories. Catch you later!!!!!**

No matter how hard he tried, Sam never ceased to be amazed at how little Dean trusted his judgment at times. As his body was slammed viciously into the splintering, decaying timber, his thoughts went back to earlier, and to how he had stated, quite clearly he might add, that he had "a funky feeling about this one." How true had those words now become? He had known deep down that this wasn't just a simple salt and burn, he didn't know how but something insisted inside of him that there was more holding the spirit here within the cabin's wooden borders then his dry and dusty, partially burnt bones, but Dean had refused to listen, insisting they separate, Sam searching the cabin, Dean the grounds and barn outside, to get the job done quicker as soon as they had gotten here, with instructions to call if either of them encountered something, or found the final resting place of the cabin's former owner. That plan had escaped out of the broken windows soon after, as Sam had met with the decidedly unhappy spirit; said spirit leaving him no time to shout out a warning before attacking.

He grunted in pain as miniature spikes embedded themselves deep within his skin, only to be ripped forcefully back out as he was thrown once again like a rag doll about the confines of what was once the cabin's small bedroom. A scream escaped his throat, sounding shrill and harsh in the otherwise silent room, as he landed awkwardly his fibula snapping and tearing through the soft flesh of his calf, leaving him panting in agony and exhaustion on the dusty paper strewn floor, yet the ghost of Jacob McQueen refused to allow him respite, picking him up by the throat as though he were a twenty pound toddler and not a two hundred and twenty pound hulking behemoth. The ghost's glacial hands burned the skin around his neck as their grip gradually became tighter and tighter, effectively cutting off Sam's supply of air. His own hands rose and batted at the obstruction to his oxygen supply, but his body was becoming weaker and weaker, and his efforts were at best minimal.

As dark spots encroached on his vision, Sam remembered the small sachets of salt obtained from that mornings greasy diner, that now lay nestled safely deep within the confines of his pockets. Forgetting his struggles to remove Jacob's hands, he dug his own into his jackets pouches, his heart sinking as his fingers graced paper packets that were damp and useless; the rain water that spilled through the broken window having drenched his side when he had unceremoniously landed. Defeat threatened to take hold of him, his sight almost now totally blind, his body shutting down, yet a spark still lurked; a spark that knew if he allowed Jacob to win, somebody else would get hurt, Dean, and no matter how much he was pissed at his brother's recklessness right now, now matter how much he was annoyed at being ignored again, Sam could never allow Dean getting hurt to happen.

Reaching deep within himself, he sort out an answer, a small chink of relief sparking a small burst of energy within him as he remembered a spell that Joshua had once spoke of, the incantation wouldn't last, wouldn't defeat Jacob, but it would give him some time to recover, or at least give Dean some time to find him. As he gasped and rasped out the words he realized the huge mistake he had made almost immediately; he hadn't counted on the Jacob's anger. As the charms words began to take effect, so did Jacob's efforts to silence him, his hands clenching tighter around a throat that was slowly being crushed, but Sam still struggled on, enraging the ghost all the more until he couldn't hold that rage back any longer smashing Sam's face and head against the uneven edge of the broken sill, the last word of the incantation being spoken at the same time as unbearable pain and discomfort erupted within Sam. As the spirit dissipated, Sam dropped boneless to the floor, his body splattering the pool of water that rested beneath him, creating patterns in the dusty drier parts of the room, before becoming still and silent, his clothes and hair gradually getting drenched by the moisture that still lashed through the broken glass.

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

Rain pummeled him as Dean burst through the cracked and rotting door, a set of boot treads breaking through the wood that had drawn damp over years of being exposed. The old, burned out cabin shuddered and groaned as the door flew open on rusted hinges before the pin keepers snapped and the rotted wood fell into the cabin with a clatter. Dean coughed and blinked as dust and ash rose to irritate his eyes and lungs. Having found the bones and burnt them to ashes, he had returned to the cabin wondering why Sam wasn't answering his calls. The dust cleared enough to allow him to see, through the doorway that led to the back room, a crumpled, jacket and jean clad heap against the far wall beneath a broken out window that allowed the heavily falling rain inside the cabin. The smell of mildew and old smoke made Dean cringe as he ran to his brother's side.

"Sammy?!" Dean cried, gently reaching for his brother who was soaking wet. "Oh Sam." Dean gently turned Sam over and picked his unresponsive sibling up to hold him against his chest. He pushed Sam's sodden hair back from his closed eyes and took in the bruise that mottled Sam's forehead. Dean felt the rain water slowly working it's way through his spiky hair to drip down his forehead to his cheeks, making him feel like he was crying.

"Come on kiddo. Gotta getcha outta the rain." Dean shifted to his feet, remaining in a crouch as he tugged Sam up by the armpits. Sam's head lolled, water dripping from his locks to strike the soggy dust on the floor, spreading the gray, gritty mud as Dean dragged Sam backwards onto a dry part of the floor. Sam's jeans became snagged on a splintered floorboard, slowing Dean down as the fabric hitched and then finally gave way, the back of his calf exposed through the soggy denim. Dean cringed again, before he fell to his knees and laid his brother's head gently in his lap. "Come on Sammy, you gotta wake up, need to know where the sonuvabitch is that did this to ya."

"Don't need him to tell ya, boy." a gravelly voice sounded out in the room at the same time the short hairs on Dean's neck prickled.

"Sonuva…" Dean trailed off, his breath fogging the air in front of his face. He raised the shotgun, his aim steady even as he changed his posture to protect his unconscious little brother. The ghost materialized in front of him.

"Dude," Dean smirked, "Anyone ever tell you that you're one fugly…" Dean looked over the spirit as it turned corporeal, seeing his features for the first time, his stomach turning somersaults at the sight that befell him.

Standing a couple of inches taller than Dean himself, a couple of inches shorter than Sam, and twice as wide, Jacob McQueen made for an eerie, disturbing spectacle. Dressed in a dirty, stained, charred in places, vest and dungarees, one strap hanging loosely down his back, the bib folded over on his chest, working boots on his feet, scuffed and worn throughout the years, one sole flapping noisily every time he moved as it's bindings rotted and broke loose. If Dean had stopped there, he would have thought the ghost was little more than an average Joe, but he didn't and the rest of the ghostly apparition was the reason his lunch, that he had so enjoyed, was threatening a repeat visit. The skin on the mans hands and face was blistered, shriveled and raw, his hair burnt, gone completely in parts, gathered in gelatinous clumps in others where the skin of his scalp had melded with it. The whole left side of his face was caved and grotesquely misshapen, the result no doubt of the beating the man had taken before his cabin had been set alight. It was the man's eyes though that caused Dean to gag; eyes that burned with rage, stared at him from lidless sockets, fibrous vessels only just keeping them there.

Forcing down the vile fluids that rose in his throat, determined not to lose focus, knowing that Sam's life was in his hands, Dean shot off a blast hoping that by doing so he would have time to maneuver himself into a better, stronger position. As the spirit dissipated, he moved, pushing Sam off him and to the side, no time to worry about the pain the move would cause Sam, before rising and planting his feet securely; his stance shouting out one thing, protect Sam. He mentally accounted for all his weapons as he waited for the inevitable reappearance, his blood pumping as his heart raced. The cold chill returning, turning each breath he made into a steady plume of steam, had Dean tense and raise the shotgun once more. Every inch of his being poised and ready to do anything and everything to keep Jacob from harming Sam. His eyes darted about the gradually darkening room, scanning, inspecting every nook and cranny for signs of movement; his ears alert, focused, intent of hearing even the slightest sound. The attack though when it happened was swift, precise and painfully accurate, Jacob's hands grasping an unsuspecting Dean from behind before launching him across the room, his body cruelly colliding with the decaying wood, molding his frame within the lumber like some form of modern day art, before he fell winded to the floor.

He rose on unstable rickety arms, shaking his cob webbed head in an attempt to clear the fuzz that had descended, as his eyes adjusted he spotted something lying in the accumulated mess that littered the floor, his baffled, battered brain not immediately recognizing it for what it was, thinking at first that it was the decaying remains of a rodent, or some other small animal. Turning away from the repulsive sight, he sort out his brother once more, his eyes bulging in horror as he witnessed Jacob once again turn his attention back on Sam. The ghastly apparitions eyes though blatantly stared his way as though in silent mocking, as his hands clamped forcefully, securely, lethally around Sam's neck again, the icy fingers blistering yet more of the fragile skin as they continued their deadly constriction.

Dean looked frantically around for his shotgun, or any weapon that would be of help to Sam now, finding the sawed-off lying uselessly at the far side of the room, too far away to be of any help. He attempted to rise, crashing back down to the floor as his ankle protested the weight pressed upon it. He cried out in anguish, endeavoring to bring the ghost's attention his way, anything to stop the deadly assault on his sibling; but the hands gripped tighter, and the sardonic smile grew. He searched again for anything to help, and even offered up a prayer hoping for some sort of divine intervention; choking back a laugh as a sudden thought entered his head. Maybe those rotten remains weren't a rodent after all, maybe they were what were holding the restless, ruthless spirit here. He crawled slowly over to where they lay, pulling old yellowed papers with him as he went. Using a piece as a barrier he picked up the remains, his stomach rolling as the putrid smell of decomposition hit his senses. Breathing through his mouth, he brought it closer as his still foggy sight, and the diminishing light made recognizing the remains harder; a smile gracing his lips as his assumption turned out to be right. Gathering the tattered paper remains into a pile he place the palm sized piece of hair covered skull on top and quickly grabbed his lighter he flicked the lid, the flint catching first time, the small pyre soon blazing.

He dropped the still burning lighter, his hands covering his ears, as a piercing, screech emanated from Jacob McQueen's ghost, reverberating harshly around the cabins small confines. The icy temperature increased and then receded as stormy winds battered the room until with a blinding flash of white, everything calmed. Dean dropped his hands from his ears, his eyes seeking out Sam before slowly crawling his way over to his stricken sibling, his mind so focused on Sam he failed to see the danger lurking behind them. His fingers frantically searched for a pulse point, relief flooding him for a second as they found a steady beat, before leaving as he realized Sam's breathing was at best labored, the life giving air struggling to break past a slowly swelling throat. He needed a hospital, he needed a hospital now. Dean's thoughts broke away from Sam as his senses were alerted by a noise coming from behind them. Turning around, he cursed Winchester luck as his eyes fell onto the fire that was spreading quickly, consuming the dry rotten wood greedily, its flames already climbing the wall and blocking the only door that led back into the main part of the cabin and the only exit to the outside. Thinking sharply, Dean knew they had no other choice, they would have to go out of the window, guilt crushing him as he knew the drop would hurt an already agonized Sam all the more.

Gently placing his hands beneath Sam's armpits he started the short drag across to the broken out window, wincing as the icy water that still billowed through the broken glass struck and stung his face. Once in place he hoisted Sam's deceptively heavy frame up holding it in place with one arm before using the butt of his gun to break away the few remaining pieces of glass. Once done he whispered a silent apology before scrappily heaving Sam up and over the sill, keeping hold of his sibling as long as possible before, with arms shaking from the exhortation, he was forced to drop him unceremoniously to the winter hardened floor. Quickly clambering out himself, as the fire raged and burned behind him, Dean landed at Sam's side, nearly crashing into his sibling as his ankle gave way beneath him once again.

He stayed still, breathing deeply as he rode out the pain, until it had abated enough for him to move. Grabbing hold of Sam once more he hurried as much as possible away from the burning building, aiming for the comfort and safety of the Impala, never before being so pleased to see his baby. By the time he had maneuvered a still lax and silent Sam to the car, Dean was sweating profusely, and trembling in exhaustion and pain. He quickly opened the back door, not caring about the pristine interior as he hauled Sam's grimy, dirt covered body onto the seat, carefully positioning his broken leg so as to cause his brother the least amount of pain. He took off his own soiled jacket, turning the fabric inside out before placing it gently underneath Sam's battered head, brushing back a few strands of saturated hair, before backing out of the vehicle, ready to climb into the drivers seat, gun the engine and drive a quickly as possible away from this hell hole.

He stopped as a sound caught his attention, ears alert as he fought to catch it again, dropping to his knees in order to get closer to Sam when he finally realized his brother was attempting to talk to him; the sound barely audible as it fought to get past his damaged throat. Putting his ear close to Sam's mouth he waited, not knowing whether to laugh or cry as Sam whispered. "Maybe next time you'll listen to me." As he gave reassurances that he would, Dean breathed a sigh of relief. Sam was seriously hurt, in desperate need of hospital attention, but he was going to be okay, those few words told him so, and that was all Dean needed to know. Closing the door, he climbed in the front and with the rain still pelting down, pinging off the cars exterior, sounding out a tune that both brothers always found calming, he repositioned the rear view mirror, took a quick glance at Sam and placed the car in drive. Sam might be okay with time, but right now he needed that hospital.

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

Two days later and both boys were leaning against the hood of the Impala, Sam's leg cast, his crutches placed to the side of him. Gauze bandages could be seen poking above the neck line of the black hoodie he had worn from the hospital; bruises covered one side of his features, stark against the paleness of his face, his eyes sunken and hooded, dark circles eminent beneath them; a soft sheen of perspiration gracing his top lip and brow, evidence of how much pain he was still in. If Dean had of had his way, his still weak brother would even now be lying in a hospital bed, but both brother's knew that a certain Dalton Radley's credit card would not last very much longer, that it would be better if they left before their scam was found out. He had wanted to keep going, to leave this town behind, to travel the deserted open highway until Sam required them to stop, or the car ran out of gas, but Sam had insisted they return to this place, insisted they needed to go back; and so he had acquiesced, anything to take that haunted look off Sam's face.

The fire Dean had created had finished the job that had been started years before, the cabin now razed to the ground. Smoldering embers could still be seen in places as they ate away at the last of the timber floor, curls of grey smoke spiraled and swirled in the slight breeze that the early morning was producing. He shivered slightly as the early dawn air found it's way past the layers of his clothes to tease the skin underneath, his mind concerned, if he was feeling the cold, was Sam too? He looked over at his injured sibling, his face portraying the sympathy he felt as he noticed the tears that were threatening to fall.

"Sammy?"

"He didn't deserve that, Dean. He didn't deserve to die that way, that horrifically." Dean didn't know how to respond so he kept quiet and allowed his tired and emotional brother to continue. "He was innocent, Dean. He did nothing wrong, but they killed him anyway. Why? Because he was a loner? Because he was different? Because they thought he was a freak? He sounds like me Dean; does that mean I should be accused of any thoughtless crime that happens around here? I just don't get it, I just don't get humans! Why did he have to die? Why did they stop looking for the real criminal?"

"I don't know why, Sam. I can't answer you."

"Do you think I'll become like him? You know, when my time comes?"

"What are you on about, Sam?"

"People think I'm a freak, I'm not outgoing as you, I have these freaky powers. Do you think somebody will do the same to me that they did to him? I mean he didn't hurt anyone, and yet they beat him and set him on fire. What's to stop people doing that to me?"

"Me Sam! I will hurt anyone who ever comes near you, I promise you." He looked over at Sam again, knowing that his words would take a while to sink in, that Sam would carry this hunt in his head for days, weeks to come. "I might not know what you are thinking, might not feel how you feel, but I do know we did good here, I do know that because of us, Jacob is now at rest. You should take that to heart." Pausing he clapped Sam on the shoulder before adding. "C'mon, let's get the hell out of here."

**There's lots more to come. Please leave a review!**


	3. Blue Fire

**A/N: **

**So, this is it... the first round. I'm totally excited about this new project and what an awesome scene I got! Blue Peanut M and M just gave me those words and at first I wasn't sure I'd be able to keep it at her level of skills. I'm still not... but I did my best and well, I want you all to enjoy... and I just hope I managed to do that. So... enjoy!**

**Blue Fire **

_She stood over the prone, bloody form, looking down at him with blazing eyes, her breath coming in harsh, fast gasps . He would never betray her ever again, licking the blood from her lips she let the axe fall to the ground with a clatter. Something deep down within her stirred, awakened by the coppery taste in her mouth. As if in trance, she knelt beside the corpse of her husband, her head bending further, her eyes meeting his vacant stare, as she lapped at the blood running down his destroyed face... the crimson warmth running down her throat, and she felt it breaking free at the taste of blood. Her hands suddenly clawing at his chest, not fast enough in open new wounds, devouring flesh and blood stilling her ravenous hunger... _

SPNSPN

Awareness came back to him in jumbled litany of fear, pain and confusion. He could tell that he was moving, but not of his own accord. The cloying desert heat combined with the arid dust that rose with each jerky, uneven pull of his prone body, making breathing a chore, a task that only added fuel to the fire as his fear and confusion intensified, and he began to squirm and fight the pull, magnifying the particles that rose and creating a vicious cycle of discomfort that had no ending in sight.

He could feel talon like digits clamping cruelly into the tender flesh of his calf, creating tears in the skin and muscle, rich crimson rivulets slowly tickling the hairs as they trailed down his leg, only to be replaced by a sudden starting numbness. His breath hitched at the loss of feeling in his leg and he attempted to raise and twist a head that felt swollen and sluggish. He blinked against the dry and sandy air, willing his eyes to clear so that he could see his captor; bile rising in his throat, and a desperate need to escape overwhelming him as his vision cleared and the beasts true nature was revealed.

Blistering pain exploded through his fingertips as he clawed and scrabbled at the dust covered rocky floor, the skin stripping bare exposing the raw, new flesh beneath. His nails raked over the surface as he struggled and fought to gain purchase, bending back at times to increase the agony the unsuccessful effort was causing him. As the beasts hold continued to drag him along, never breaking a stride, he lowered his head despondently, defeat evident in his eyes, and prayed that his brother would reach him in time.

...

_Earlier_

"_So, a Dog-what?" Dean asked muffled through his mouthful of Burger.  
_

"_Dude! Manners!" Sam hissed annoyed, "And it's Dogai!" he corrected.  
_

"_Sounds like a Chinese dish!" Dean ignored Sam's plea on his manners and continued to speak with a full mouth. Finally swallowing down, he took a swig of his beer and then continued the conversation: "So, what's it?"  
_

_Sam glared at him. "There are different descriptions about WHAT a Dogai is, but the most reliable source described HER as a talon-clad, dark-skinned, haggard beast, feeding of__f blood and flesh. She prefers men, but when food is rare, she also takes on children or women. Like a Wendigo she prefers dark and wet places for her lair, which is odd, because we're in Arizona and there is just no place dark and wet. It's desert-land, but still, with the description and the MO it would be my first guess."  
_

"_Why now?" Dean asked.  
_

"_What?" Sam looked at him.  
_

"_Why did she - it start killing now?"  
_

"_That's the thing... I first thought maybe it's another similarity to the Wendigo and she rests for a amount of time, stores her... food... But I couldn't find anything in the past. I checked the adjoining states. Dead-end too. It's just an idea, but all I know is, that it started with Geoffry__Adams. And he wasn't found in the desert. He was found at his home. Mutilated. The autopsy report says he died of trauma resulting from__his bashed in skull…" Sam informed. "They think his wife did it, his now disappeared__wife. What they couldn't explain were the claw-marks and the missing... uhm... parts of his body."  
_

"_You really think it's the wife, don'tcha?" Dean grinned.  
_

"_Jeeze, Dean. The wounds inflicted on him, don't match any known animal... It's just a theory yet, but if Dogai's are related to Wendigo's, they may have been human once too." Seeing Dean's raised eyebrows he continued. "Geoffry Adams was known as the biggest womanizer in this part of Arizona. What if she killed him and started feeding on him? And now she's turned - or - turns slowly into a Dogai?"  
_

"_We'll kill her. Of course only if you would finally get to the part where you tell me how to kill the bitch."  
_

_Sam took a bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly and swallowing, before taking a sip of his own drink.  
_

"_SAM?" Dean's exasperated voice broke the silence impatiently.  
"Patience, big brother. Patience!"_

...

The next time he became aware, the heat was gone and replaced by cool and damp air. For a moment he thought he was saved, but the pain in his wrists and shoulders that flared up at his very first movement told him otherwise. He was bound; hands high above his head, almost his whole weight pulling on his shoulders as his feet just barely touched the ground. His left leg was numb up to his hip, while he could feel the cold floor on the toes of his right foot. His shoes were gone...

This forced his eyes open and he was confronted with a darkness so corporeal he choked on it. Flashes of memories of the last few hours came back to him, sending chills down his spine and he felt the panic rise again, his breath starting to come in fast little gasps. _Calm down!_ His brain shot commands at him he couldn't obey. _Dean!_

He could only remember snippets of what had happened, why he was here, what had him. One of these snippets was ofhis brother on the ground. He had so hoped that Dean would get to him in time... _Gawd..._ he felt his heavy head fall forward, while his breathing quickened even more, his blood rushing through his veins, almost deafening him. Just before he passed out again, something behind him rustled.

_Dean... _A small spark of hope flared again as he could dimly feel the presence of someone else in the room.

Hard hands grabbed him, ripping and removing his shirt without care. He started to struggle with all his remaining strength, but it ended in a shocked and pained cry as a sharp talon was dragged down lazily from his collar-bone to the end of his sternum.

His breath hitched and his jaw quivered in fright and disgust as a cold, wet tongue licked away the blood and replaced the initial pain of being cut with a new level of agony. He felt the Dogai's salvia burn him like acid. He bit down hard, drawing blood from his lower lip, keeping himself from crying out, but another lap on his wound and he couldn't suppress the pain filled scream. She seemed to enjoy what she was doing as he felt her claws holding onto his waist as she continued to move her tongue over the mark, until he slumped forward, spent... _Dean... please! God, help me!_

...

He first felt the pain in his back, where something pointy dug into it, the strained muscles of his shoulders protesting as he rolled on his side and he coughed, starting to gag at all the desert-dust he had breathed in.

He didn't know what hurt most as he lay on the ground, eyes scrunched closed. He felt dry, hot, shaky and somehow his right side, where that bitch had hit him felt oddly numb.

_Sammy!_

Suddenly he was fully alert. Fighting himself into a sitting position. The first try to call out his brother's name was futile, nothing more then a gasp. He coughed again, trying to clear his irritated throat.

"S'mmy!" he rasped, turning to all fours, blinking his eyes open despite the harsh sun-light, searching for his brother.

"Sammy!" his voice carried the name away loud and clear with a slight notch of panic and worry, on his third try.

Silence met him and Dean swallowed hard. He had heard Sam scream a warning, right before being tackled and then...

_The pain in his side was intense as he felt airborne from the force and landed hard, hitting a pointy stone on the rocky ground, robbing him off his breath __and causing him to feel detached,__ fighting for his consciousness, fighting to get back on his feet again. Sam! He had to help... _

_His head rolled away from the noise of his brother screaming as he felt the pain in his side turn into a numb throbbing his awareness fading with it. _

_He drifted, wasn't really conscious anymore but awake enough to listen to her scuffle away... away... away with Sam, his little brother... then everything around him __blackened__out... Sam... _

...

He was so cold... huge shudders let the joints in his shoulders scream. He could feel blood running down from his wrists, tickling him on the way, first his armpits, then his sides. His chest felt oddly numb now, but he knew the claw-mark still bled. He could feel it gathering at the waistband of his jeans, making the denim heavy and sticky with soaked up, coagulated blood.

Another shudder let him groan. His teeth chattering but he froze as he heard yet another noise in the cave. She was still around. Here in the everlasting darkness. He flinched as talon-clad hands touched his bare back, breath catching in his throat again and all the terror he felt in not being able to see his attacker went a notch higher as he felt her breath on his neck, her tongue on the tender flesh of his shoulder... and she bit down hard sending his nerve-ends into a burning agony and he screamed again.

"Soon…" her voice nothing more then a croak with vocal-cords not made to talk anymore.

...

Tracking... he was good at it. He had learned early how to read a track. His father had made sure of that.

He was exhausted, his back was hurting permanently, his side still numb from the poison in her talons, his mouth dry as sandpaper. He bent over and coughed, trying to get the ever-present dust and sand out of his lungs. His eyes burned steadily and by now he hadn't enough fluids left to get rid of the small sand-corns irritating them.

A dizzy-spell caused him to sway and suddenly he found himself looking up at the burning sun and the dirty sky.

"Wow…" he breathed, staying there for a moment, taking deep breaths and ignoring the tickling in his throat.

Suddenly he jerked awake again. _Shit!_ Had he fallen asleep in the middle of the desert, without protection against the merciless sun? Chastising himself he fought his way into a sitting position wavering heavily for a moment. He recognized that he wasn't sweatinganymore, his sight blurry and his eyes hurting from the dryness. As he cringed he could feel the tautness of the skin on his face. He needed to get out of the frigging sun.

Struggling to his feet proved to be a lot more difficult then the last time. He stumbled forward, hissing as the gentle throb in his side suddenly was peaking, and looked down at his injury. It didn't bleed anymore, the gashes for now congealed, dry blood coating the right side of his torso and ripped shirt.

Tiredly he continued to follow the trail of blood, and dragging-marks, feeling his strength wane with every step he forced his body forward.

...

She had gone some time ago, leaving him alone with his fears. The shudders rippling through him continuingly and he no longer could stand on his own accord, all of his weight pulling on his shoulders, the blood from his wrists a steady trickle now. His thoughts were all jumbled, as to where he was and what had happened, but one of those thoughts stood in front of all others. _Why hadn't Dean come?_ He fought his head from his chest again at the thought. _Why hadn't Dean come?_

Somewhere nearby he could hear water dripping, and this triggered another need in him. Water! Thirst! He needed water! But then, in the everlasting darkness surrounding him, images assaulted him. Pictures of Dean, blood running down from his brother's cut throat, and it was Dean's blood dripping to the caves ground... it was Dean's blood. A small, brokenly sob escaped him, as his mind came up with more cruel pictures, torturing him. He gagged, bitter bile suddenly filling his mouth, and retched, not able to control the sudden spasms, letting his stomach clench. Spent and exhausted his head dropped forward again, as he continued to listen to the dropping blood... Deans blood... _Gawd... Dean... _

...

The sun slowly lost its strength; he could feel the heat of the day retreating, as the shadows grew longer. Night would be closing in on him soon. He stumbled for the umpteenth time and just didn't have the strength to stay on his feet. Again he hit the sandy ground, eating dust. His throat was so sore and raw from coughing he was sure he wouldn't be able to talk for days. Defeated for a moment he let his head hang, his forehead touching the hot ground.

_"Please! Help me!" _He went rigid. _"Dean…"_ He heard the whispered words and craved to listen to them, fighting to raise his head.

A few yards away, Sammy stood, both his arms raised in a greeting, his figure wavering in the heat.

"Sammy…" Dean whispered, the word causing another coughing-fit and a dry sob. He staggered to his feet starting forward again.

"_Dean…"_ Dean stopped dead as the figure of his brother vanished with his name on his lips.

Choking Dean crashed to his knees again. _Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!_ His mind screamed at him. How could he just - for one second - believe his brother would stay there... waiting for him.

His self-loathing fuelled him with energy again, as he pushed to his feet. He wouldn't let the bitch kill his brother. He knew Sam was alive. And as long as one breath was left in Sam, Dean wouldn't give up, not on Sam and not to the heat.

...

No longer was she able to spend any time in the agonizing brightness daylight brought. She wasn't Alicia Adams, the wife, the woman, the weak human anymore. She was reborn. Reborn on the night she had slaughtered her husband. On the night she had renounced humanity.

Soon... she caressed the cold and clammy skin under her rough fingertips. Soon he'd be gone enough to be hers... soon...

...

His tired and sore eyes looked up at the rock-formation. _Sonuvabitch..._ he swore wordlessly, his voice too weak. Slowly he started the exhausting hike up the steep slope.

A few minutes later he stopped at the entrance of the cave, where the trail he'd followed the last couple of hours stopped abruptly.

...

As he opened his eyes again, he could see the red, dancing light of a lonely torch, and a bizarre face right in front of him. He shrank back, at the inhuman features and heard her hiss in annoyance.

She had eyes like crystals, clear and silvery, her dark-grey skin dotted with brownish blotches. Only the curves of her body reminded him of her former humanity.  
She raised her claws, letting him flinch and try to move away from her, but his whole body was numb, so he whimpered in fear as her rough fingertips touched him again.

"Now…" Her raspy voice echoed through the cave as she raised her claws shivering in barely contained pleasure.

Sam screamed weakly and scrunched his eyes closed at the same moment as a gun-shot ripped through the cave and deafened out every other noise.

...

She felt a sharp, burning pain biting her skin, her arm suddenly useless. She turned around to see the one she thought she had killed. Roaring in rage she advanced. She knew he couldn't see her. She was too fast for the human eye.

Before he knew it she had grabbed him by the collar of his tattered shirt and tossed him through the air, deeper into her home. He landed hard at the feet of the other one. But she had underestimated him.

She never thought a human could react that fast.

Already he was on his feet, lunging for his dislodged gun. She shrieked at him in anger and attacked again. She barrelled into him at the same moment his hands closed around the gun's stock, her razor-sharp talons digging deep into his left shoulder drawing blood.

...

Dean felt her claw piercing his shoulder, a pained wheeze escaping his throat, as he reacted on instinct and head-butted her. There were only seconds before he wouldn't be able to fight he knew, as he struggled to sit up, moaning at the pain and the already spreading numbness. He raised his gun as she moved in on him again, her body on top of his as she wrestled him down. He could feel her hot breath on his face as her mouth opened to reveal two rows of pointy sharp teeth. Her eyes, dark from fury bore into him, letting him forget to breathe. _Just shoot her... _his befuddled mind suddenly screamed at him and he pulled the trigger – twice. Tabbing her once in the chest and once in the head.

...

Sam whimpered, as two more gun-shots rang, something wet hitting the naked skin of his chest.

...

She shrieked, as the rounds hit her, jerking back and away from him and the pain, as a blue fire engulfed her from deep within. She crashed only a few feet away from Dean as he tried feebly to scramble backwards, to gain some purchase between him and her writhing, burning form, but his body failed him, as he simply collapsed, his hand on his injured shoulder, giving in to the mix of exhaustion and her paralyzing venom... not able to help his brother... not able... Sammy...

Silence settled once again in the cave, only the crackling and the heat of the fire remained.

...

The first thing his subconscious noticed was the dripping of water, followed by the feeling of a hard ground beneath him. He hurt, and he wanted nothing more then to succumb to the darkness he drifted in, but he knew it was more then his life in the balance. So he forced his hurting eyes open, looking around the semi-darkness as he tried to remember where he was, who needed his help. Memories rushed back as he could smell the acrid stench of burned flesh.

_Sammy…_

He tried to push himself into a sitting position, wincing as the movement jarred his hurt side. He almost crashed to the floor again, his right arm still numb and useless.

"Sonuva…" his curse wasn't more then a weak croak as he tried to speak. He fought himself to his feet one handed and precariously started to stumble over to Sam.

Stopping in front of his brother Dean was lost for a moment, looking at the raw and rope burned wrists, the blood splatters and cuts on Sam's chest and the vicious looking bite on Sam's shoulder. Sam was limp, his whole weight lying on his shoulder-joints. It would be incredibly painful, Dean knew from past experiences.

Swallowing dryly, Dean raised his left, functioning hand, touching Sam's cheek.  
The reaction he got was intense. Although not fully aware Sam jerked heavily, groaning in pain as the sudden movement jarred his abused shoulders. Dull eyes blinked open, looking at him.  
Dean saw the parched lips, the dried blood marring Sam's face as he lifted his head.

"S'mmy…" he whispered and felt his brother relax into the touch. Dean wanted to say more to soothe him, tell him he would cut him down, tell Sam to just let him handle everything… but his already swollen throat threatened to close up completely at the pain he could read in Sam's blood-marred face.

"Dead…" Sam's hollow voice whispered, his head slowly falling to his chest again.

Taking a deep breath he stepped up to Sam, his chest touching his brother's cold and clammy skin, as he lifted his good arm that now held his pocket-knife and cut through the rope.

For a second time that day he found himself flat on his back, this time with a heavy weight pressing him down. Sam whimpered something incoherently, as Dean tried to catch his breath. He could feel the scratches on his side had reopened.

Coughing and panting he again heard the soft dripping sound of the water, nearby.

Stubbornly he worked himself into a sitting position, moving his right, weak arm around Sam's midsection and used his good arm to drag him and Sam towards the dripping water.

"'most there…" he forced out between heavy breathing and soon enough he felt the wetness under his fingertips. Leaning against the rough rock of the caves wall he pulled Sam up, letting him rest against his chest, feeling his own heart hammering hard against his brother's back. It wasn't more then a slow trickle, but it was water, nonetheless. Dean held his cupped hand out, catching the drops. He shifted Sam around to have better access to his brother's face and slowly to not spill any of the precious good he carried; he held it to Sam's mouth. As soon as the water touched Sam's lips his brother's mouth opened and Dean tilted his hand, feeding his brother. He repeated the procedure a few times, grinning in relief as Sam's eyes fluttered open, one arm came up to weakly push at his hand.

"You…" Sam's rough voice whispered. And this was all Dean needed to hear. Seconds passed as he greedily drank the small amounts of water he could catch with his hand.

"Slowly..." Sam's weak voice and a hand on his slowed him down.

Eventually Dean stopped, looking at his brother's shivering form, eyes drooping already. He could feel Sam relaxing into him, his weight heavy against his chest again and felt himself relax in return, his arms circling around his brother's midsection, trying to provide some warmth, his head tilting forward resting on Sam's uninjured shoulder. The light of the torch growing paler and paler as time moved on, blanketing the sleeping brother's in darkness.

…

A few days later...

Dean yawned and stretched like a cat, stopping dead as he recognized the sound that had woken him from his slumber.

_Sammy...  
_

Kicking his blankets back he sat up and placed his naked feet on the carpeted motel-room floor.

Another nightmare. Pushing to his feet he walked the few steps over to his brother's bed, sitting down on the edge. It was just the brink of dawn; Dean could see pale pink light through the small slit of the curtains. Sam's whimpering let him return his attention back to his little brother.

"Sam…" He whispered gently, his hands dropping on his sibling's shoulders to shake him awake.

...

_He could hear the blood drip in the darkness. His brother's blood. Dean hadn't come. She had killed Dean and no one would __save__him. He whimpered as he felt her presence in the cave, almost able to feel her hot breath again. Then, in the next moment she was all over him, her hands on his shoulders, pinching hard... blood, he could still hear it dripping down, her breathing in his ear. _

"_Sammy…" He jerked against her hold. "Sammy... Sammy?" _

_..._

Dean was surprised as Sam's arms shot up and wrapped around him, holding him in a tight, strangling, desperate embrace.

He felt his brother's fast breath on his neck as Sam continued to hold on as if his life depended on this connection.

Slowly Dean's arms came up, wrapping around Sam's form, returning the hug, gently. One hand starting to go up and down his brother's back in a soothing motion.

"Everything's okay, Sam. I gotcha, I gotcha…"

FIN


	4. Flash Point

**Winchester Single Shots: Flash Point**

_**Disclaimer: **__Just playing with them for a while. Kripke and the CW owns the fabulous Winchester Boys!_

**SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN**

Rain filtered through the open windows, as two figures lay slumped in their seats. Dark, menacing clouds gathered overhead while violent claps of thunder reverberated through the sky. Bright flashes of lightning slashed through the clouds and towards the earth, lighting up the horrible scene that was now displayed on the side of the road.

Wind howled fiercely, catching at branches of trees, tearing limbs off and sending them spiraling away as the leaves scattered and fell in clusters of color. A crack filled the air and a long, thin branch was flung towards the smoking car that now lay on the side of the road. It ripped through the front windshield, shattering the glass and sending slivers flying in every direction.

The entire scene looked like something from a horror show. The back road was deserted and no traffic visible in any direction. Black tire marks scarred the asphalt, their journey ending at the crumpled form of a dark, classic car resting on the grass with smoke rising from the engine. The car itself had almost been tipped on its roof. Leaning on two wheels, the heavy vehicle was dented and its obsidian paint was scraped off with the bare metalwork showing beneath. The two tires that were pointing skyward continued to spin, buckling slightly in their rotations and causing sparks to fly.

Salt lay everywhere. It doused the area of grass the car was lying on, especially heavy near the trunk. It seemed that upon impact, the trunk had sprung open and had been wrenched off, as all that remained was a gaping hole in the back end of the classic black vehicle.

Weapons of different assortments lay scattered everywhere. A couple of shotguns had been thrown free of their imprisonment and lay a few feet away, drenched in salt and the steadily falling rain.

But it wasn't the state of the car, the salt that was dispersed everywhere, or even the large stash of weaponry that caused the most worry. It was the two bloodied figures slumped in the front seat of the car.

Dean moaned as he came to, something pounding away relentlessly within his head. Shifting slightly in his seat, the elder Winchester struggled to remember where he was. Did I really drink that much last night? It wasn't until he turned his head to the right that the truth slammed into him with enough force to stop a speeding train. His eyes remained fixed on his little brother, who was leaning against the dash, eyes closed, crimson blood flowing freely from a large cut above his left eye.

"Sammy?" he whispered in a hoarse voice, the word breaking at the last syllable. When he received no answer, Dean strained to move within the tilted car, trying desperately to reach his unconscious brother. With some difficult and painful maneuvering, Dean managed to work his way towards Sam, panting as the pain from an obvious broken arm flared up. Just as his hand was about to touch Sam's shoulder to shake him, Dean gasped. "No…no, no, no, no, no!" he chanted, not wanting to believe what was happening, that Sam wasn't breathing. Shit, how could they have known the bitch would possess the Impala?

**SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN**

Bobby sat nervously waiting for the Winchester brothers to arrive as they were now over two hours late. Dean had called him earlier to tell him that the exorcism had worked and that he and Sammy were on the way back to his place to have a few beers and relax. According to Dean, the exorcism had been a tough one as the bitch had dabbled in Satanism and she had nearly gotten the best of the two boys he now thought of as sons. It took the boys six hours and some vivid cuts and bruises but they had finally managed to send the spirit screaming from the possessed girl's body and out the fireplace flue.

Bobby glanced at the clock on the wall to see that another five minutes had passed with no word from the Winchesters. His mind ran away with him the thoughts of what could have possibly happened. He had tried calling the boys numerous times only to get their damned voice mail. Bobby pulled his old ball cap off his head and flung it across the room in anxiety. "Damn it, something has happened to those boys, I can feel it in my bones." Not wanting to waste another second, he quickly pulled on his jacket and another ball cap before grabbing the keys off the hook hanging by the door. He rushed outside into the pouring rain, taking no notice of just how wet he was getting.

Jerking open the door to his old blue Ford pickup truck, he placed the key into the ignition and fired it up. He slammed the gear into reverse and pulled out of the drive in a desperate need to find the boys, something in his soul telling him that it was a matter of life or death. As the lightning cut jagged paths across the sky in vibrant shades of yellow up ahead, Bobby's fears for the boys ratcheted up to unbearable levels as he watched branches being snapped from the trees with the force of the storm. He himself was having a hard time driving with the way the blustery winds were slamming into the truck.

Pulling out his cell phone, he tried calling Dean once again. "Come on, come on, don't do this to me, pick up the damn phone ya idjit." he whispered only to find himself disappointed once again as it transferred over to voice mail after the fifth ring. "Son of a bitch." he yelled out in frustration as he snapped the phone shut and placed it in his pocket, those boys were going to be the death of him yet.

As the heavy rains continued to fall, Bobby cursed at the way it reduced the visibility ahead to near zero. If the boys were caught out in this mess, he could easily miss them along the way. Glancing skyward for just a minute, Bobby said, "John, if you're up there, you've got to help me find your boys. I know something's wrong and I can't do it on my own this time. They need you right now more than they've ever needed you in their lives. Please don't let them or me down."

**SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN**

Unable to get into a good position, Dean straddled Sammy's body as it lay against the passenger door, He shifted Sammy as best he could towards his back and then quickly pulled open Sam's mouth as he tilted his head back to open up the airway. Taking a deep breath, he sealed his mouth over Sam's as he pinched his nose shut and blew two quick breaths into his lungs. He waited a few seconds and then repeated the procedure once again when Sammy showed no signs of breathing on his own. "Come on tiger, you can do this!" he pleaded as he checked for a pulse. He could feel a faint thumping beneath his fingers, but Sam was still yet to take a breath on his own.

"Don't you do this to me Sammy!" Dean begged as he took another deep breath and forced the air into his brother's lungs once again. He was just about to administer another rescue breath when Sam suddenly inhaled and started coughing violently. "Oh thank God" Dean stated as he cradled the nape of Sammy's neck with his hands. "You're going to be alright little brother. I'll find a way to get us out of this mess."

"De'n, what 'appened?" Sam questioned as his mind began to register the immense pain his body was in. His head throbbed relentlessly as though a thousand little bongo drums were being beaten on within his brain. As he tried to adjust his body to make himself more comfortable, he found he was unable to move his legs do to a heavy weight that had settled upon them. Not only was he held immobile, but he could feel a warm viscous liquid flowing down his right thigh.

"We were in an accident," Dean answered as he began to assess his brothers injuries. Sammy had a bad gash on his forehead where it had collided with the windshield and was now bleeding steadily, no doubt he was most likely concussed. He felt along his brother's abdomen and chest for signs of broken ribs or internal bleeding. "Sorry" he stated sincerely when he hard Sammy gasp as he prodded along his ribs. They didn't feel broken, but it was hard to be sure. As he reached down to check Sam's legs, he cursed as his fingers were unable to reach them through the dashboard that was now keeping his baby brother pinned.

"Can you feel your legs Sammy?" Dean inquired as he looked his baby brother in the eyes needing to know if he was trying to hide anything. He had always been able to read his younger brother since his eyes were the window to his soul.

"Ye-yeah, hurts De." Sam replied breathlessly as he struggled to stay conscious. He really was beginning to feel like total crap. He began to shiver as a strong wind whipped around inside the car and the rain began to pelt his face since it was now blowing in the car at an angle. "C-c-cold-d" he whispered just before his rolled back in his head and he lost consciousness once again.

"Sammy? Sammy?" Dean called out as he patted his baby brother on the cheek. He had hoped to keep Sammy awake and talking for fear of him slipping into a coma due to his injuries. Unable to help his brother in any other way, Dean pulled off his leather jacket and gently covered Sammy with it as best he could since he was already in shock and needed to be kept as warm as possible.

Taking a deep breath, Dean debated with himself about what he should do. The road they were driving on had been basically abandoned for the past couple of hours and the chances of them being found were close to nil. But then if he left, there was always the chance that Sammy could stop breathing again. "What am I supposed to do?" he screamed as he looked up towards the sky feeling like he was damned if he did and damned if he didn't. He had no sooner hung his head when a brilliant flash of lightning lit up the area around him. "Son of a bitch that was close." Dean seethed as he covered his baby brother with his own body just in case the next flash hit the car.

**SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN**

Bobby had been driving for nearly an hour looking for the boys. The weather had gotten to a point where he was going to have to turn back because visibility was now reduced to almost zero. As he searched for a place to turn around, he felt sorrow deep in heart knowing that chances were good that he could lose those boys tonight. Spotting an area up ahead that was big enough to turn the truck around in, he started to pull over just when a brilliant bolt of lighting in the shape of an arrow lit up an area about half a mile ahead. And what Bobby saw nearly took his breath away.

Bobby pushed the pedal to the metal and sped towards the area where the lightning bolt had pointed him too. Turning on the search light that was connected to his truck, he lit up the small culvert and shined the light around. He gasped when seconds later, the bright light landed on a classic black car that now lay on its side with two wheels spinning haphazardly in the air. "Dean, Sammy" Bobby whispered reverently immediately recognizing John's beloved Impala. Grabbing his first aid kit, he quickly exited the truck and took off at a jog towards the wrecked vehicle. He slipped a few times in the mud before finally approaching the underside of the car that was now facing him.

"Dean, Sammy, can you hear me boys?" Bobby called out as he worked his way around the fallen debris and the front side of the car.

"Hurry Bobby, Sammy's hurt pretty bad." Dean answered as he closed his eyes and thanked who ever was listening that help had arrived. He didn't know how Bobby had managed to find them in this godforsaken weather, but he was there now and that was all that mattered. "You hear that Sammy, Bobby's here. We're gonna get you out of here and to a hospital tiger." Dean looked up as he caught a movement out of the side of his eye to see Bobby standing before him.

"How bad is he?" Bobby asked as he nodded his head towards Sammy. The kid was obviously unconscious and had blood streaming down the side of his face from a nasty looking gash on his forehead.

"Not good, listen, he's trapped Bobby and I can't move him." Dean informed the man who was so much like a father to him and Sam now.

"Trapped how?" Bobby inquired, his mind immediately kicking into high gear.

"His legs are pinned by the dashboard and I can't move him" Dean stated as he ran his uninjured hand through his own hair.

Knowing immediately what he needed, Bobby said, "I'll be right back Dean, make Sammy as comfortable as you can. He then quickly went back to his truck and grabbed the hydraulic tool that he needed to free the youngest Winchester. He slid back down the small muddy embankment on his behind causing his jeans to become soggy as he held the tool most commonly known as the jaws of life within his hand.

Finally making it back to the car, Bobby placed the jaws of life into a position and turned the hydraulic tool on forcing the jaws to start spreading apart. After just a few tense minutes, the tool had created enough room for Dean to pull his baby brother's legs out from the former place of entrapment. "He's free Bobby!" Dean shouted happily knowing he could finally get Sammy out of the car and to medical help soon with Bobby's help.

**SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN**

An hour later found Bobby and Dean sitting in the emergency room of the nearest hospital as they waited on news of the youngest Winchester. Sam had not regained consciousness on the way to the hospital and it left Dean and Bobby with a feeling of tension and wondering whether or not Sam would survive. As they sat waiting, Bobby couldn't help but wonder just what had happened to cause the boys to wreck. Sure it had been storming, but Dean was probably the best defensive driver he knew. Needing to know exactly what happened, Bobby turned to face the anxious older brother and asked, "Dean, just what the hell happened out there?"

"It was the hunt Bobby. I thought we had exorcised that bitch of a spirit and sent her back to hell, but I was wrong. The damn thing ended up possessing the Impala. We had no clue about it until it was too late. We we're heading down a long stretch of highway when the car suddenly started swerving back and forth. I tried to fight it, but she careened all over the road. As the Impala suddenly lurched in speed, I tried pressing the brake but the damn thing wouldn't go down. Next thing I knew, I woke up wondering what the hell had happened. You basically know the rest of the story." Dean said as he gave an abridged version as to what had happened.

"Damn, you boys are lucky to be alive." Bobby intoned with a shake of his head knowing that things could have turned out so much worse.

"You can sure say that again. If you hadn't come along when you did I don't know…by the way, how did you manage to find us in that godforsaken storm?" Dean inquired.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told ya Dean." Bobby answered fully believing it was a miracle himself and he knew Dean just didn't believe in them.

"Come on Bobby, spill it." Dean prodded enthralled with the way Bobby was acting, wondering what the big secret was.

"It was a flashpoint Dean, by that I mean a bolt of lighting that was shaped sort of like an arrow lit up the sky and pointed directly to where the Impala lay resting on it's side. If I didn't know better, I'd say it was sent to help me find you boys." Bobby answered waiting for Dean to make fun of him.

"Dad" whispered Dean with a look of astonishment on his face. "It had to be dad watching over me and Sammy, it couldn't have been anything else."

Bobby was just about to agree when they saw a doctor walk out with green scrubs on and call for the family of Samuel Singer. "That would be us." Dean stated as he and Bobby stood up. Bobby had decided that they needed to use his name since he had added his 'nephews'to his insurance policy over six months ago in case of a medical emergency. As the doc shook both of their hands, Dean asked "How's my little brother?"

"Samuel is a very lucky young man." The doctor answered with a smile. "His lower right leg is broken and we had to put in fifteen stitches to close the large gash in his right thigh. He lost a lot of blood and was anemic when he was brought in but we have given him a few units and his color is returning. He has a few bruised ribs which is causing him considerable discomfort, but they will mend with time. He also had a gash above his right eye which we've closed with a butterfly bandage but there is considerable bruising. The injury that had us most worried was that he had a partially collapsed lung which resulted from his chest impacting with the dashboard of the vehicle. I know you said he had stopped breathing once and that was most likely the cause. We have Samuel on oxygen to help with his breathing. With time and therapy for the injured lung, he should make a full recovery."

Dean breathed a huge sigh of relief as he ran carded the fingers of his right hand through his hair. "When can I see Sammy?"

"Just as soon as we get those injuries of your taken care of." The doctor answered as he noted the way Dean was supporting his right arm. Not having the energy to fight him, Dean followed the doctor into one of the treatment rooms to allow his own injuries to be taken care of.

After thirty minutes, a few bandages, and a new cast later, Dean and Bobby were finally shown to Sammy's room on the fifth floor. Dean pushed the door open to see his brother sleeping with an oxygen mask covering his mouth and nose. Sammy had a large white bandage that covered the gash on his forehead and the area around his right eye was black and blue. He had a blanket that was pulled up to his chest covering him, but Dean could see that his ribs had been wrapped to help promote healing. Standing beside his brother's bed, Dean brushed a hand through his wayward bangs and whispered, "We're here for you Sammy whenever you decide to wake up." He felt Sammy turn into his hand and then watched as his brother's eyes slowly opened.

"How you feeling kiddo?" Dean questioned with a smile as he squeezed his right hand lightly.

"Like an elephant sat on me." Sam answered with a wince of pain as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

"Yeah, well your lungs are bruised and you've got some bruised ribs too so it's probably going to hurt for a while. You want me to ask for something stronger for the pain?" Dean asked hating to see his brother hurting.

"No, I'll be fine." Sam whispered as he faded off to sleep once again secure in the knowledge that Dean was there to watch over him.

Bobby pulled up a chair for him and Dean to sit on so they could watch over the youngest Winchester as he slept. He knew Sam had been lucky this time coming through the accident with only moderate injuries. He would only have to stay in the hospital for forty eight hours of observation according to the doctor and if nothing unforeseen happened, then he would be willing to release Sammy as long as he promised to take it easy for a few weeks. Knowing how stubborn both brothers were, Bobby would make sure they agreed to go to his place so he could watch over Sammy's recuperation. After all, John had entrusted him with his boys and it wasn't something he took lightly.

**THE END **_**If you liked this story, please take the time to visit the other author's participating in the challenge. Their stories will posted together under Darksupernatural's profile with the title Winchester Single Shots. **_


	5. Tossed Around

_So this came out of a new project Darksupernatural invited me to join. There are some really awesome writers that came together for this and I'm honored to be part of it. The premise is that everyone writes scenes for fictions and then sends them to one of the other writers. The project is called "Winchester Single Shots" and will be posted on Darksupernatural's page. We decided each of us will post the first scene under there own name, so that the readers will know about it. The writers taking part right now are – Darksupernatural, Merisha, Sammygirl1963, Blue Peanut M and M, Soncnica, V.R. Jennings, DancerintheDark101, Emerald-Water, and well myself. So check it out over on Darksupernatural's page. We are hoping to make this a long lasting project and maybe even add more players._

The bold part is the scene Darksupernatural gave me, the rest is from me. So here it goes.

**Tossed Around**

"**Stay close, Boys." John said as he hefted the sawed off shotgun higher, fog swirling around him as he made his way through the cemetery, looking for the headstone belonging to the spirit they were looking to dispatch. "Dean, watch your brother." Fourteen year old Dean pulled ten year old Sam closer to him; feeling shivers working through his slender body, even as Dean released the grip on the sleeve of his jacket. The swirling fog gathered tighter around the boys, cutting them off from their father as a wailing filled the darkness. The shotgun blast rang out in the mist laden night and a shrill shriek filled the air. Suddenly the viciously swirling mist stilled and rested along the ground, snaking over the headstones and obscuring the names engraved into the weather worn granite. **

"**Dad, what's goin' on?" Dean asked as he held Sam closer, hefting the shovel in his other arm. The smaller boy was shivering with cold and fright. **

"**It's the spirit Son. She knows we're here for her and she's going to put up a fight. You keep Sam close ya hear me?"**

"**Yes sir." Dean said his face hardening stoically as Sam curled into his side. They walked a little more, fog swirling around their ankles like a hoard of snakes.**

"**Dean, I'm scared." Sam whispered.**

"**It's okay Sammy. Dad's gonna get her and keep us safe. Nothin' to worry about."**

"**Okay Boys, I've found her grave." John handed the shotgun off to Dean who tucked Sam up against a large granite grave marker and held the gun tightly, placing himself between the grave and the tombstone, and Sam, at his back. John put down his duffle bag full of salt and accelerant and began to dig the grave with the shovel Dean had carried in. "Just stay alert Dean."**

"**Yes sir." Dean said his eyes scanning the cemetery as John scooped the first shovel full of dirt from the grave. The night remained silent, fog snaking in to blanket their surroundings in gray mist. Dean could sense Sam shivering behind him as he heard his brother's fast breathing. "It's okay Sam."**

**Dean watched as his father continued to dig, the lull of the repetitive motion pulling him in. He didn't notice the fog rising once more to wisp around his knees like a wraith. He didn't notice the chill as it seeped in and laid claim to the air around them. The wailing started as the wind kicked up and Dean felt the gun being ripped from his arms. Sam gasped as Dean was toppled off his feet. Dean's head collided with a tombstone and he gave a pained grunt before falling still on the mist covered ground. **

"**DEAN!" Sam cried, horrified as he watched blood pool around his big brother's head. "Daddy!"**

**John glanced quickly at the boys, seeing the spirit manifest behind Sam. "SAMMY!" John cried as he watched the specter wave a hand at his ten year old son and sent the boy flying. John quickly rammed the shovel head home through the rotted lid of the coffin, exposing the bones of the woman to the rainy night air. He threw a handful of salt into the opening, causing the spirit to scream. Grabbing the lighter fluid from his pocket he doused the skeletal head with the strong smelling liquid. Sam's limp form collided with a tombstone, the edge of the worn black granite catching Sam across the lower back. He slumped motionless to the mist covered grass as John dropped the match into the hastily broken open coffin. Flames erupted into the night as John scrambled away from the disturbed earth and ran to his boys, both of them lying too still on the damp earth.**

"**Sammy!" John ghosted his little boy for injury, thankfully finding no broken bones. "Come on kiddo, wake up for me."**

"**Mnnn." Dean stirred on the dead grass nearby. "Da-"**

"**Hey Dean-o, ya alright?"**

"**Head hurts." Dean muttered as he sat up and put a hand gingerly to the side of his head, pulling the appendage away when he felt the warm stickiness of his own blood. His eyes remained closed and he probed at the wound, grimacing when pain ricocheted through his skull. He opened green orbs and blinked to clear his vision before looking to where his father's voice was coming from. The pain was replaced with terror. "Sammy!" Dean cried, scrambling dizzily to his fallen brother's side. **

**His eyes lowered to take in his little brother's prone body on the brown grass. "D-dad, I'm sorry. I was too- too slow. Damn-sorry, sir- darn spook pulled Sammy away from me and…" Dean paled as his voice trailed off. He swayed against his dad's arm, groaning a little under his breath."**

"**Easy Dean. Listen to me, if I put Sammy and you both in the car, can ya watch him until I fill the grave back in?"**

"**But dad, he's still out. What if somethin's really wrong with…"**

"**Dean." John barked. **

"**Yes, sir. I can watch Sammy. Sorry sir." Dean said lowering his smudge ringed eyes to the misty grass his brother rested on. **

"**Good." John said, standing up after shifting his youngest in his arms. "You know I can't leave a salt and burn uncovered."**

**John led the way back to the car, as Dean stumbled slightly; trying to clear his vision that repeatedly kept dimming around the edges. His stomach churned and he felt chills break out across his mist dampened skin beneath his clothing. He stepped closer to his dad, his shoulder bumping the arm that his father had slung underneath Sam's back. Sam moaned a little. John stepped up to the back door of the Impala and waited as Dean opened the door and slid inside, taking Sam from him as John lowered his son to the seat. "Now, I'll be back as soon as I get the grave filled back in and gather up the stuff. No one can know we're here. That's just the way it has to be." John turned and walked off after shutting the back door of the Impala on his sons. **

**Sam whimpered and Dean pushed his damp hair back. "It's okay Sammy, I gotcha. "M'sorry. Should-shoulda been watchin' ya better." Dean slurred slightly as he felt dizzy once more. He shifted Sam on his lap slightly and put an elbow up on the door panel, resting his aching head on the palm of his hand. Blood dribbled down his cheek as his eyes slipped closed and his head slid off his hand to rest heavily against the door panel. Sam turned his head on Dean's lap and whimpered, his back arching slightly to relieve the pressure that was growing over his kidneys.**

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

John hurried to fill the grave back with dirt. It had been with a heavy heart and extreme feelings of guilt that he took his boys to the car and left them there. His fatherly instinct was still screaming at him for it, telling him he should have taken the kids back to Bobby's house right away, while his hunter personality tried to soothe him with the knowledge that his friends house was two hours away and there would be no way to get there, take care of his sons and come back before morning dawned.

So instead he did the best he could to cover up all the evidence of the salt and burn in as little time as possible. After finishing he gave his work only a fast glance, thankful the grave was located in the oldest part of the cemetery, were no loving family members were left to visit and maintain the resting places. Picking his equipment up, he jogged back to the Impala, anxious to provide the kids with the care they needed and deserved.

He opened the trunk, throwing the duffel and shovel inside and retrieving the first aid kit. Making his way around to the back door, he pulled it open, unprepared when his eldest unconscious body slipped out and fell against him. Dropping the kit, he instinctively caught the limp form and tucked him back into the safety of the seat.

"Dean, come on kiddo, you have to wake up!" He gently tapped the pale cheek, while trying to coach him back to awareness.

After a moment he noticed the flutter of his eyelids and a small moan coming from his lips.

"That's it, keep trying, you can make it." John continued, his anxiety somewhat diminishing, when slightly glassy green orbs starred at him.

"Dad? What…?" Millions of questions seemed written on Dean's confused face, "Sammy…."

"He is right beside you." The oldest Winchester reassured his firstborn, not missing, when he instantly reached down and only relaxing when his hand came in contact with the thick mop of his brother's hair.

John couldn't help but notice that his youngest was no longer lying on his back with his head on Dean's lap, but rather turned onto his side, his legs bent almost backwards as if guarding a pain in his back. He worried about his continued unconsciousness but figured it was more due to shock than any injury. The kid was scared to death before the hunt even started. Having made sure earlier there were no external injuries, he knew that anything else would have to wait until they got back to Bobby's. Instead he turned his attention back to the older boy.

"Let me see your head." He ordered.

"It's fine, take care of Sammy." Dean mumbled, turning the insured side of his head away from his father.

"Don't lie to me and let me see." John ordered, putting his hand on his chin and turning his face, so that he could see the slow, yet constant trickle of blood down his cheek.

Picking up the first aid kit, he set it on his son's lap before opening it and pulling out some gauze pads and peroxide. Carefully he cleaned off all the blood until the source, a long gash leading from Dean's forehead approximately two inches into his hairline, was revealed.

Flinching, he said, "It's not deep, but the part in your hairline will need stitches. The rest will be okay with steri-strips."

He wiped the surrounding area with alcohol to allow for better adherence, before applying the strips. Using more gauze pads, he covered the laceration and secured them with wrap.

"This will have to do. The sutures will have to wait until we get back to Bobby's place."

Pulling a chemical ice pack out of the kit, he broke the capsule inside and kneaded it before handing it to his oldest to press against his injury, "There is some Tylenol in the kit, take some. Water is in the cooler at your feet." He instructed him before reaching over and checking Sam's pulse. Relieved by the steady thump of it, he pulled a blanket from the floor and covered the kid, handed Dean another one.

"Okay, let's go." He said, shutting the door and making his way to the other side to climb into the driver's seat.

"What about Sammy?" Dean's voice was filled with worry for his younger brother, who still hadn't moved.

Pushing his own worry back, John kept his response steady, "Nothing we can do for him here. Keep checking his pulse from time to time and let me know if anything changes. I'm sure he is going to be alright."

SN SN SN SN SN

John pushed the sleek classic car to its limits, cutting the time to Singer Salvage Yard down by a third. Sammy had started moving halfway through the drive, letting out a few small whimpers, which had almost broken John's heart for not being able to soothe his youngest. Instead it had been Dean who pulled his baby brother close, assuring him in a quiet voice that he was safe and things were going to be okay. It had taken only moments for the boy to lean into his sibling's touch and go back to sleep.

Pulling into the drive in front of Bobby's house, the oldest Winchester killed the engine and got out of the car, allowing himself only a second to stretch before opening the back door. He gently shook Dean, who after keeping himself awake most of the way to watch over his brother, had fallen asleep only ten minutes ago.

"We're here son." He said, "Think you can make it?"

"Yes, Sir." Dean responded, as he rubbed his hand over his face and let out a moan as it came in contact with the injury on his forehead.

"Good, I'm going to take Sammy."

John waited until his oldest moved out of the car and steadied himself before bending down and sliding his hands underneath the younger boy's upper body and knees. As he lifted and pulled him close to himself, it still amazed him how light and small Sam was. Money had always been tight in the Winchester household, so any of Dean's clothes still usable went into storage to wait until Sam grew into them. Just recently the father had pulled clothes out Dean had worn when he was eight and which just now fit the younger boy.

It had worried him until he thought back and remembered his friends used to call him 'Little John' until his junior year in high school, and it wasn't because he was extremely big as his name sake from 'Robin Hood'. Maybe Sammy was taking after him.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by Bobby coming out of the house. In typical hunter fashion, his friend was a light sleeper and didn't miss the roar of the Impala.

"Help Dean." John instructed as he slipped by him into the house.

Carrying his youngest upstairs and into the room the boys shared while staying here, he carefully laid him down on one of the beds. The moment Sam's back touched the bed, a moan escaped the boy and instinctively he rolled onto his side. Pulling up first the hoodie, then the t-shirt, John let out a gasp at the large bruise that reached from the left side of the boy's lower and mid back all the way to his spine and partially beyond.

"Sammy okay?" Bobby asked, while helping an unsteady Dean to sit down on the other bed.

"I hope so. Would you get me an ice pack for him?" The other man's voice was laced with concern.

"Be right back." Bobby left the room, returning a few minutes later with two ice packs and towels; he wrapped them, handing one to Dean and the other to his friend.

Placing the pack on the boy's back elicited a moan from Sam and this time John found himself facing large pain and fear filled orbs.

"Hey Sammy, how you doing there kiddo?"

The answer came hesitating and in a tiny voice, "F...fine Sir!"

Before the oldest Winchester could respond, he heard Dean's voice coming from beside him, "Don't do that Sammy, no one expects you to lie." Turning to his father, he said, "I told you he wasn't ready."

Swallowing hard, John reached over and stroked the dark curls out of his youngest face, "I know you're hurting, it's okay to say so."

Unable to contain his tears any longer, the youngest Winchester sobbed, "I don't have to suck it up?"

The father felt like he just had been slapped in the face. How in the world could he have done this to his own child?

"I'm sorry Sammy; I should never have told you that. No, you don't have to suck it up, not now, not ever."

"So how're you really?" It was Dean, who asked the question this time.

"It hurts, in my back." Looking up at his brother, he added, "You okay Dean?"

"You mean this?" He pointed at the bandage around his head, "This is nothing, you know I have a hard head."

"I'm sorry Dean; it's my fault you got hurt." Another tear made its way from one of the large expressive eyes down his cheek.

"How is it your fault? I'm the one who got distracted and let his guard down." His older brother protested. "Why don't you get some sleep squirt? If you need anything, I'll be right here."

"Not until he takes some Tylenol." John interfered; handing his youngest a tablet and helping him sit up to drink some water. After making the younger boy as comfortable as possible, he stroked some of the stray hair out of his face, "Rest now son, you are safe now." Feeling the trembling running trough the child, he added, "You are safe now, no more spirits or anything else that can hurt you."

Only after the small body under his hand relaxed in sleep did he turn to Bobby, who was quietly standing by, ready to help whenever needed and said, "Would you mind stitching Dean up? I think I'm going to take a shower."

The other man gladly obliged. Having noted the slight shake in the other man's hands a while ago, he had been ready to stop him from doing the intricate task anyway. He let out a breath of relief, knowing John's stubbornness; this could have turned into a fight, if the hunter wouldn't have realized he was unable to complete his son's wound care without help.

SN SN SN SN SN

Twenty minutes later Bobby Singer stepped into his living room, finding his friend sitting on the couch with his head in his hands.

Sitting down beside him, he said, "They're gonna be alright."

"Are they?" The oldest Winchester gave him a pained look, "I know Dean had worse before but what about Sammy?"

"We'll keep a close eye on him."

"That's not what I mean Bobby and you know it. I shouldn't have taken him. He wasn't ready. He was scared out of his wits ever since I told him yesterday he was going."

"Yeah, he was." The other man agreed, "But he was also excited. He wanted to do this."

"Darn it, Bobby, until last Christmas the kid didn't even know about hunting. I should have prepared him better."

John slid his hand through his hair and locked eyes with his friend for just a moment, before looking down again. He had done what he thought was right but now it looked like he had been wrong.

"Dean grew into hunting like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was like when you throw a fish into water, it starts swimming without thinking. Maybe I shouldn't have protected Sammy for so long. Maybe, if I would have let him in on everything from the beginning, just like I did with Dean, things would be different now."

Bobby listened with a serious expression on his face, all the while considering what John was saying. He hesitated slightly, knowing that he might step into a bee hive, then spoke up.

"You've got two sons, not one son and his clone. No matter what you would've done with Sam, he would've never acted the same as Dean, because he is not his brother. Your firstborn has the hunter instinct, it's like he was bred to be one. You are one of the best John but I can promise you, Dean will be better. Sam on the other hand is different. He is nothing like Dean or even you and me. That doesn't mean he can't be an excellent hunter, but he sees things differently."

"How can you say that? He is just a little boy." The Winchester patriarch interrupted his friend.

"Because you can too, think about it. Sammy is a dreamer; he has imagination and more than anything, he questions things. Not really bad qualities but not what you expect to see in a hunter. Those might be qualities though that could make him a great researcher and find things others might overlook definitely. I have a feeling he and his brother will make a hell of a team one day." Bobby smirked.

"Maybe you're right." John mused.

"I know I am. Just give the kid some time, he is…"

A scream from upstairs interrupted the two men, making them jump up and run up to the next floor.

SN SN SN SN SN

Dean had fallen asleep shortly after Bobby finished putting the last stitch into the laceration on his head. His sleep wasn't peaceful though, as he relived the events in the cemetery over and over again. Every time things played out a little different. Sometimes his dad got tossed by the spirit and sometimes it was him, but it always ended with Sammy getting tossed into the grave marker and looking accusingly at him, a few indistinct words coming across his lips, followed by a deep groan and the life leaving his eyes. This round wasn't different, only this time, after looking at him, a loud scream came across his baby brother's lips.

Sitting up and looking around with confusion, the older boy realized the other bed was no longer occupied. When another scream sounded, this time coming out as a very distinct and frightened "Dean", he was up and in the bathroom from where the call came, before dizziness had time to assault him.

Seeing Sam stand by the stool, his pants haphazardly pulled up but not buttoned, his eyes fixed on something inside and terror written on his face, made him stop in his tracks. Seconds later he felt the presence of his dad and Bobby behind him.

"Sammy, you okay?"

"I peed red and it hurts really bad in my back." The boy whimpered as he slid down onto his knees, obviously assaulted by another wave of pain.

Dean bent down, ignoring the vertigo threatening to topple him, and wrapped his arms around his baby brother. Sam nestled into his touch, putting his head on his shoulder.

Rubbing gently circles on his back, careful not to touch the bruised area, the older brother soothed, "You're going to be fine squirt, we gonna get you all fixed up. Right dad?!" He threw a glance over to their father.

"Dean is right Sammy. We get you to a doctor and he will take care of you. Nothing bad is gonna happen to you, I promise."

"I get the car started." Bobby threw in, "I know most the doctors in the Emergency Department, they're all good guys." He added before leaving.

"Dean, why don't you let me take Sammy and you get a blanket to wrap him in." John bent down and took his youngest out of his brother's arms.

Noting the kid was trembling, he gently let his hand glide through the dark mop of hair.

He would give the world to take the pain from his little boy. Carrying him out, he met up with Dean in the hallway. He took the blanket from him and carefully wrapped it around Sam, making sure not to come in contact with the bruised area on his back.

Together they walked downstairs and out of the house, where Bobby had the Impala ready to go. Letting Dean get into the backseat again, he handed Sam of to him, then climbed into the passenger seat. For once he had no desire to drive.

SN SN SN SN SN

The half hour trip to the hospital had gone off without a hitch and for once the Winchesters got lucky, the Emergency Department was all but abandoned and the Doctor on duty was one of Bobby's friends.

After checking Sam out and having the lab draw some blood, he sent the young boy for an abdominal MRI to assess the damage to his kidney. Dean was allowed to go with his brother and although he wasn't able to stay in the room with him, he could communicate with Sam through the headphones the technician put on the boy to dampen some of the loud noise from the MRI scan.

An hour after they had entered the hospital, the small family was sitting in one of the treatment rooms, waiting for Dr. Manheim to tell them the results. Dean was sitting on the bed, a sleeping Sam leaning against him. The younger boy had fallen asleep within minutes after the nurse had started an IV and given him something for the pain. Even though, Dean couldn't bring himself to let go of his baby brother quite yet. John and Bobby were sitting on chairs, both lost in their own thoughts.

That's how the young physician found them, when he finally entered the room.

"I got Sam's test results."

The simple statement got the attention of everyone except of the one in the center of it all. The youngest Winchester continued to be lost in his drug induced slumber.

"I reviewed the MRI and it looks like there is a small tear in the right kidney. That's where the blood is coming from."

Taking a deep breath, John locked eyes with his teenage son before asking, "So how bad is it?"

"As I said, it's only a small tear but that doesn't necessarily mean it isn't dangerous. Now I looked at the blood count we did and his hemoglobin is still within the normal range. So there is a good chance it won't need any surgical intervention."

There was an audible sigh of relief coming from all awake members of the family.

"That's great news." Dean said, stating the thought of the two adults.

"It is good news but we still have to monitor him closely for at least a week. I want to admit him to our pediatric unit and keep him on IV fluids to flush the kidneys. I also want to put a Foley catheter in so we can keep a close eye on his output and see any changes in the amount of bleeding."

"A catheter?" Dean blasted out, "dude, Sammy won't like that."

Dr. Manheim smiled, "I can believe that. but that's were you come in. I can see that your brother looks up to you, so I'm sure he will listen to you, if you explain to him why this is necessary.

"I'll try, but you don't know Sammy, if he doesn't like something, he can be pretty stubborn." The older boy smirked.

"I'm sure you'll figure something out." The physician responded. "Sam will have to be on bed rest for at least a week. If the bleeding stopped by then, we can take the Foley out and let him go home."

SN SN SN SN SN

It turned out that Sam didn't fight the catheter or even the bed rest, the other thing John had been really worried about. Although he tried not to show it, his pain was bad enough that the ten year old couldn't always hold the tears and moans back. He refused to take his ordered pain meds, because although his father had told him he didn't need to suck it up, he was still afraid John would see it as a weakness. John and Dean tried to talk to him and encourage him and finally the oldest Winchester even ordered him to take it. For some unknown reason even Dean couldn't figure out, Sam remained stubborn. In the end it was Dr. Manheim who intervened and ordered a PCA with a baseline hourly dose of pain medication for Sam. He also instructed the rest of the family to push the button to release the breakthrough dose whenever he so much as flinched, explaining that sometimes pain could make people act in strange ways.

So for the first several days of his hospital stay the youngest Winchester was pretty doped up with narcotics, leading him to sleep most of the time and if he was awake not totally act like himself. It was John who stumbled upon that fact first. Bobby had taken Dean to the cafeteria for some dinner, while the father held watch over his youngest. It was the second day of his hospital stay and again Sam spent most of the day asleep. Although worried about his son, John let the doctor convince him it was only due to the excruciating pain the boy suffered the previous day and the lack of sleep that came from it.

Looking up from the book he was reading, he noticed Sam's eyes were open. Grabbing the water glass from the night stand, he held the straw to his son's lips. The boy took a few sips, then looked at him with big fear filled eyes, finally stretching his arms out for John, "Daddy, scared."

Surprised by the reaction, but unable to refuse, John sat down on the bed and pulled his son into his lap, embracing him, while making sure he wouldn't disconnect his IV line. Feeling the shivering going through the small body and hearing the sobs coming from the Sam's lips, he gently stroked his hair, whispering soothing reassurances into his ear. After several minutes the trembling and crying stopped and when he checked, he noticed Sam had gone back to sleep, the thumb of one hand in his mouth and holding on to his father's shirt with the other.

Not wanting to wake him up, John continued to sit on the bed until Dean and Bobby came back.

Seeing his dad and brother in their current position, the older boy couldn't help but smile, "You know dad, this is exactly the way Sammy used to snuggle up to you when he was two or three."

It hit the hunter like a lightning bolt right then, "Man, you are right. That's exactly like he acted too. This is so strange."

Worried about his youngest sudden regression, he hit the call light, asking the appearing nurse to notify Dr. Manheim.

It took about an hour before the physician appeared. He had gone home for the day but left notice he wanted to be called with anything concerning his young patient.

"So what's going on?" He asked, visible worried but trying to keep it light.

John explained Sam's reaction to him, adding that the kid didn't call him daddy since he was seven and the last time he put his thumb in his mouth was when he was not more then four.

"I understand your worry." The physician smiled, "I just want you to know, although it doesn't happen very often, it is not unusual for a child like Sam to revert to an earlier, safer stage when on higher doses on narcotics. If you want to, we can decrease the dose, I'm just afraid it might not be enough to cover his pain."

Dean and John exchanged glances, discussing without words how to proceed. Finally John spoke up.

"No, we deal with it. A younger Sammy isn't so bad. It's kinda nice to hold my little boy in my arms again. He hasn't let me do this in a long time." He looked down on his son, who was still snuggled up in his arms, a content sigh coming from his lips at just that moment, "How long do you think he will need to stay on the meds?"

"Well looking at his lab results, his blood count is down but not at a critical rate and his urine analysis shows slightly less blood, so I think the tear is starting to seal itself. Hopefully within the next day or two Sam's pain will improve too. I will keep him on the present baseline rate for the night and decrease it by a third in the morning. We'll see how he will do with that."

SN SN SN SN SN

After decreasing Sam's baseline dosage the next morning and finding that it didn't increase his pain, Dr. Manheim continued to monitor his young patient for another twelve hours before cutting the dose back further. As a result the youngest Winchester, although still fairly drowsy at times, was much more alert and back to his old self.

John took the opportunity to sit down and have a talk with his youngest, feeling he owed him an apology for what had happened. Sitting down beside the bed, he suddenly found himself tongue tied and at a loss for words. After all, this was his little boy, the last gift Mary had left him.

Sam, sitting up in his bed and comfortably surrounded by lots of pillows, most of which Dean had organized from somewhere in the hospital, looked at his father with his biggest eyes. He could read the discomfort on the adult's face and for a moment felt sad for him.

"I'm sorry, Sir, I know you are disappointed in me." He started.

"No, Sammy, you didn't disappoint me at all." Suddenly the Winchester patriarch had to swallow to keep his voice from cracking, "I pushed you into this way too fast. I knew you weren't ready but I chose to ignore it. I promise I will make it up to you. You have to learn but I let you lead me and tell me when you are ready."

"I know you're just doing what you think is best. I want to help, I really do. Can I start by helping you with researching before the hunts? I would really like that, because then I can learn more about the creatures and maybe I won't be so scared. You know, they say 'knowledge is power'. Do you think that would work?"

John didn't realize he was listening with his mouth open until he felt drool running out the corner of his mouth. Wiping it off with his sleeve, he pressed his lips together, curling them up to a slight smile, "Okay, how old are you? Thirty?"

"Daaad." Sam protested, "I'm just trying to do my part."

"I know Sammy but I don't want you to think you have to be all grown up suddenly."

"I just want to be like Dean and I want you to be proud of me." The boy confessed.

The answer hit the father were it hurt most and two things suddenly became crystal clear. First that his oldest's childhood ended the moment he put his baby brother into his arms, second that pushing all this responsibility onto his oldest, showing his approval of how he handled it and trying to keep Sam protected from all of this, he had given his youngest the impression that he didn't have faith in him.

"No Sammy, I am proud of you. I just wanted to protect you. You and Dean, you mean the world to me and I couldn't be any prouder of you than I am."

"Does that mean you will let me help with the research?" Sam gave him his best puppy dog look.

Unable to resist, John smiled, "Sure squirt, I think you will do a great job helping us out."

"Alright." Sam's eyes gleamed with joy, turning into a bright bluish green in the process.

"Alright what?" Dean entered the room, closely followed by Bobby, without being noticed and heard the last word.

"I get to help with research." His little brother eagerly explained, unable to hold in his enthusiasm and in the process turning back into the ten year old he was supposed to be.

"This will make things so much better. I hate reading all of those dusty books Bobby has. I bet he bought them all when they were still brand new."

Not getting the humor in Dean's statement, the younger boy gave him a serious look, "Dean, that book about the witches is from 1689. I didn't think people could live that long?"

Seeing the totally confused expression on Sam's face, when the response to his question was a loud laugh from both his brother and father and a grumbled protest from the family friend, the two older Winchesters couldn't help but laugh even harder.

"Sammy, Dean was joking." John finally clued his youngest in, "Bobby might look that old but he is really not much older than me."

"Just wait till you guys need my help again, I might think really hard about giving it to you, after all, old men like me are not up to helping guys like you." The other hunter griped but couldn't help the small smile that appeared on his face. The mixture of beyond his age smartness and childlike innocence that Sammy combined was something that drew him in again and again.

SN SN SN SN SN

Now that Sam was improving, it was difficult to keep him in bed and even more difficult to keep him from complaining about the catheter. So in order to keep the youngest hunter occupied the two men and Dean took turn playing board games or cards with him. That was until Bobby came back on the fifth day of Sam's hospital bed and put several books on the bedside table.

"What are these?"

The salvage yard owner grinned, "These are a few of the books from my library." He picked the thickest one up and put it on the bed, "This is a book that contains rituals used to summon different spirits and demons. The rituals to destroy the summoned creatures are in the second part of the book." He explained.

"And what am I supposed to do with it?" Sam gave him a wide eyed look.

"Well, the book is in Latin and while most hunters are pretty good at pronouncing the words, there are not a lot that actually understand enough to choose the right rituals. So I've been working on translating this book and putting the summoning rituals with the corresponding banishing or exorcism. The bad thing is I just don't have enough time, so I thought you could help me. I know your Latin is pretty fluent."

"Wow, you really let me do that?" The boy's eyes had gotten even bigger, if that was possible, and there was a gleam of excitement in them.

"Sure, why not? And if you have any trouble, there is a dictionary right here." He held up the second book. "I also brought you paper and pencil so you can start whenever you want."

"Cool!" Sam picked up the book and started flipping through the pages, stopping after a few seconds to read a ritual that had caught his attention. Pulling the note book and pencil Bobby had lain beside him closer, he started writing.

The hunter watched him for a few minutes, amazed by the seriousness with which the youngest Winchester threw himself into the task.

"You gonna be okay here until your dad and Dean get back from breakfast?" He finally asked.

"What? Yeah, sure." The kid didn't even look up and for some reason Bobby wasn't totally convinced he had even heard him.

"Alright, I'll go then." He pointed to the door.

Not getting a response, he grinned and pulled his ball cap deeper in his face. Looking back one final time, he opened the door, almost running over Dean on his way out.

"Hey Bobby, you ready for more 'bored' games?" The fourteen year old smirked, knowing how annoyed the hunter had gotten, when after loosing to Sammy all day, it was John who beat him in the last game.

"Nah, I've got to go, got a job to finish the old Lincoln today. Guy called; he needs it this afternoon to go out of town."

"I bet Sammy and dad will be disappointed."

"Don't think the kid will be interested in playing games today." Bobby said with a secretive tone to his voice.

Hearing the words but not the way they were being said set off an instant alarm in the older brother, "Why, what's wrong with him? Did he have a relapse?"

Clearly upset, he was ready to push his friend to the side but was stopped, when Bobby held on to him, "Sammy is fine. Sorry, didn't mean to scare ya. I gave him something to do. Look!" He pushed the door open and stepped to the side, letting Dean look inside.

A grin appeared at the middle Winchester's face when he saw his kid brother engrossed into a big, old looking book, occasionally writing into a note book he had laying beside it.

There was a look of intense concentration on his face, only intensified by the tip of his tongue sticking out between pressed together lips.

"How did you manage that?"

"Your dad told me he was going to let Sam help with research to get him more familiarized with what you face every day before letting him go on another hunt. So I figured letting him help with translating would be a good start. His Latin is better than that of a lot of scholars I've talked to." Bobby explained.

"What's going on here?" John's voice abruptly made them turn, not having noticed him walk up behind them.

"Bobby found us some reprieve from keeping Sammy entertained." Dean stated, moving enough so his father could peek into the room, while Bobby explained again what he had done.

"You're a genius." John padded the other hunter on the shoulder. He rejoiced, seeing instantly that this was not just something to keep his youngest busy but also way to make him feel useful and needed.

"Yeah, geek boy is in his element. Now we just have to make sure he won't overdo it." Dean laughed. Knowing his baby brother, the kid wouldn't stop to eat or sleep unless he was made to.

SN SN SN SN SN

Dean had been right about Sam, it took all three of them to get the ten year old to take breaks. Although he fell asleep over his work very frequently, Sam would wake up and go right back to work. Finally John put his foot down and took the books and notes from his son, letting him have them two hours at a time with several hours of rest in between. He also took them home at night and brought them back in the morning, knowing his baby boy, he would try to work during the night, if he could get his hands on the books.

Sam took the two hour restrictions without much complaining but protested loudly about his dad taking the books home for the night. Not getting any results, he then changed his strategy to whining and using his best puppy dog look, coming dangerously close to breaking his father's resolve. In the end John bent down to kiss his forehead and left without saying another word, leaving a laughing Dean behind.

"Is dad really going to bring the books back tomorrow?" Sam's voice instantly quieted the laughter.

"Sure squirt." Dean reassured him, "He is just worried about you and wants you to get enough sleep tonight."

"But I'm really not tired."

Giving the younger boy a critical look, the older brother couldn't miss the way he was fighting to keep his drooping eyes open. Smiling, he ruffled the kid's dark hair and pushed the button that reclined the head of the bed further.

"Get some sleep bud. You might not be tired, but I am." He turned the light down and took a pillow and blanket, making himself comfortable in the recliner that had become his sleeping place ever since his brother's admission. Giving the younger boy one last glance, he saw that his eyes were closed and his breathing had evened out, indicating he was already asleep, "Knew you would sleep." He whispered before relaxing and closing his eyes, asleep within minutes.

SN SN SN SN SN

The next afternoon brought a real surprise for the little family. Sammy had just started back on his translations after taking a "forced" nap, although his protest had really been just a put on to disguise the fact how tired he really was. Thinking about it now, the ten year old had to confess that he needed to find a better method, because by now no one was buying his lines anymore.

Dean was watching an old Bugs Bunny cartoon on TV, while John and Bobby talked about a report they found in the local paper this morning.

"You really think there is something supernatural behind the power outages in the next county?" John questioned his friend.

"Not really sure but it is a possible. I checked into it before I came here and there is a distinct pattern to the outages. They are at the same time every day, lasting exactly four minutes and twenty-one seconds. They checked out everything and it's not people doing it. So what does that leave?"

Although still skeptical, the oldest Winchester agreed, "Maybe you're right but what you gonna do 'bout it? It's not like anybody got hurt."

"Not yet, but I just can't shake that gut feeling I've got." Bobby said, then added, "Look John, I know you don't really want to go on another hunt until Sammy is better and I wouldn't want you to go anyway. That's not why I brought that up, just wanted your opinion. I already left a message for Caleb. He is good at all that technology stuff. He should be back tomorrow. Hopefully he'll be free to go with me."

"Thanks, Bobby, you sure…"

He was interrupted by a knock at the door, followed by Dr. Manheim sticking his head into the room.

"May I come in?"

"Sure doc, what's up?"

John's question came just when Bugs went, "Ah, what's up doc?" eliciting a giggle from Dean and Bobby.

"Sounds like I came at the right time?" The physician grinned.

"So what is up, doc?" This time it was Dean, who asked, still laughing.

"I just got Sammy's latest lab results back and I thought you wanted to know." He looked at the family, seeing the tension that had suddenly appeared in their faces, "His latest urine analysis tells me here is no longer blood in his urine and the Renal Panel and CBC show his kidneys are working well and his hemoglobin is only slightly below normal. And as you know Sammy had a repeat MRI this morning and that was also good news. The tear is visibly sealed and healing."

"Awesome." Dean couldn't contain his excitement.

"I thought so too." Dr. Manheim agreed, "That's why I thought it would be okay, if you want to take him home today already."

John smiled and looked over to his youngest, "Did you hear that Sammy, you get to go home."

"Huh? Yeah, sure." The boy nodded without even looking up from his work.

"What's up with him?" The doc was clearly puzzled, "Doesn't he want to go home?"

Dean grinned, "Sure, but give geek boy over there something he really likes to do and he won't know what's going on around him. Wanna see?" Seeing the nod from the man, he walked over to his brother's bed, "Hey Sammy, you are a baby who sucks it's thumb."

"Sure." Was the only response coming from the younger boy, again he didn't look up.

"Unbelievable, he totally shut everyone out. What is he doing that's so interesting?"

"Translating some old Latin texts." John enlightened him.

For a moment the doctor was unsure what to say. This family was really a mystery to him. A father, who seemed so distant on one hand but fiercely protective on the other, a fourteen year old, who acted more like a father to his little brother and was even more protective than his dad and a little boy, who had an innocence about him that he hardly ever saw in a ten year old but at the same time obviously knew enough Latin, a dead language, to translate old texts. The most normal person was Bobby, whom he knew for several years, but around the Winchesters even he had a "don't mess with my family or you mess with me and you don't want that" aura to him.

"Well, tell him the nurse will be in to take his catheter out in a few minutes, I will get his papers ready and give you instructions before you leave."

SN SN SN SN SN

By the time the nurse came in, Bobby and John had left, trying to give the youngest some privacy and thus leaving only Dean with his brother. The older brother could tell from the big eyes and quietness, that Sam was more than a just a little embarrassed by the perspective of having some female remove his catheter. For once he didn't really know what to say, any remarks to make light of the situation, he could think of would go right over Sammy's head. Although way beyond his age in book knowledge than what Dean had been at ten, he was way too innocent to even remotely have any interest in girls. Poor kid probably would be a late bloomer all the way, not that this would ever take away from the way he felt about the little guy.

Taking in the curves of the tall Hispanic nurse, whose name tag identified her as Teresa, only pressing his lips together at the last second was he able to hold back an appreciative whistle. He was sure she wouldn't appreciate it at all and it certainly wouldn't help Sam to get her mad at him. So instead he gave his brother what he hoped was an encouraging look.

"So Sam, you're ready to get rid of this thing?" Teresa asked, giving him a big smile.

The large eyes, almost dark brown and filled with anxiety, gave a louder answer than any words could have. Seemingly ignoring it, she continued, "Alright then, let's do this. See this syringe?" She held the little plastic instrument up, "There is a port on the end of the catheter through which we inserted sterile water into a balloon at the end that's in your bladder to keep it from slipping out. What I'm going to do now is connect the syringe to the port and draw the water out. After I'm done with that, I want you to take a deep breath and let it out again that way you won't feel me pulling out the tube as quite as much."

Sam gave her a nervous nod, his trembling hands getting ready to pull the blanket back, even though he would have much rather disappeared underneath it. Dean, still not sure what to do and hating himself for it, stepped closer, hoping his physical presence would give his little brother the reassurance he didn't seem to be able to give in any other way.

The nurse took a hold of Sam's hands, gently pushing them gently back, "No need to uncover yourself." Smiling at the surprised and confused expression on his face, she lifted the blanket just enough to expose the end of the catheter. Connecting the syringe, she withdrew the fluid, then let her gloved hand slide up the tube as far as it was exposed, before taking a firm hold of it.

"You ready?"

Sam nodded again and drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He felt a slight tug and an uncomfortable, but not painful sensation, while he waited for the worst part to come.

"All done!"

"Really?" His voice suddenly light with relief.

"Yep, now let your brother help you to the bathroom and you can get cleaned up and dressed. I'm sure you're ready to leave this joint."

Dean grinned, seeing his kid brother appreciated her easy approach just as much as he did. Although he still felt a little guilty for not being able to give Sammy the safety he would have liked to, he was grateful the power that be had blessed them with Teresa, who knew exactly what the little guy needed.

SN SN SN SN SN

Two months later found the Winchesters in Nevada, John working a construction job between hunts and the boys back at school. After its rough beginning, the summer at Bobby's had turned into a real experience or the family. Sam's recovery went off without a hitch, which had been a very unusual experience, but had been mostly due to the constant mother-henning of the two men and Dean.

Per doctor's orders, Sam was to take it easy, not lift heavy, no sports and no running until the final clearance. Due to the mild anemia, Bobby had taken on the task of serving up foods high in iron, much to the dismay of the two older Winchesters but delighting their youngest, who always preferred salads, fruits and vegetables over the high grease fast food on their usual menu. That it frequently included steaks and hamburger was the only redeeming quality to the new way of eating. All were glad though Dr. Manheim hadn't thought it necessary for Sam to keep a renal diet. Because his kidney panels had been normal, he just continued to monitor them weekly initially, then every other month. After giving Sam the okay to go back to normal activity and eating, he recommended to check the lab values every three month for a year, just to be on the save side.

The youngest Winchester continued his work on the translations and also helped with research for some of the hunts Dean, their dad and on occasions Bobby went on. He really appeared in his element and pretty soon knew more about some of the creatures he researched than some of the experienced hunters.

By the time they left the salvage yard, he had gotten through half of the book Bobby had given, promising the hunter he was going to get the rest done by the time they would return for their usual Thanksgiving visit. Although Bobby knew John was going to keep his boys busy with training and other tasks and then there was also school to think about, he had no doubt the kid would keep his promise. It still astonished him how serious the little boy took this task.

SN SN SN SN SN

Saturday morning was usually a day to sleep in for the kids and today wasn't any different. John had left for a hunt in one of the neighboring towns last night, so Dean had ordered pizza and they had watched the Fright Night Marathon on TV till early into the morning. When they finally went to sleep Sammy crawled under the blanket with his older brother shortly after Dean turned the light off. The middle Winchester hadn't really been surprised, his kid brother loved those kind of movies but still always suffered from nightmares afterwards. So he let Sam snuggle against him, knowing in the end it would provide both of them with a peaceful night.

Waking up with a yawn the teenager stretched, instantly surprised by the smell of bacon coming from the small kitchen. Getting up, he shuffled to the bathroom and after completing his business, went on into the kitchen.

"Hey Dean, breakfast is almost done."

Sam smiled enthusiastically through the smoke coming from the stove. He grabbed a plate and set it onto the already set table. Sitting down, the older boy eyed the blackened bacon and scrambled eggs and was just about to make a comment about 'burned sacrifices', when he saw the anticipation in his brother's face.

"Awesome, you got up early and made me breakfast. You're the best!" He said instead.

"Yeah, you let me sleep in your bed last night; I know you don't like that too much, so I wanted to do something for you." He walked over to the toaster and grabbed the slices of bread that just popped up.

Dean took a breath of relief; at least the bread was toasted right. Putting some bacon and eggs on his plate, he buttered his toast, then started to eat. As expected, the bacon was burned to a crisp and bitter but knowing he was being watched, he smiled and took a bite of the eggs. At least those were eatable, although dry and slightly burned. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Sam grab the carafe from the coffeemaker and walk towards him, pouring the steaming black liquid into the cup sitting beside him. After putting it back in its place, he sat down and took some food for himself before gulping down half of the glass of milk that was sitting beside his plate.

Looking expectantly at his brother, he asked, "Aren't you gonna drink your coffee?"

Unsure, if he really wanted to try the concoction but not wanting to hurt his brother's feelings, the older Winchester lifted the cup and carefully took a sip. Surprised he took another and another, then set the cup down again.

"Wow, this is better than Dad's coffee."

"So you like it?"

"Like it? I love it." Dean responded.

"I bought it for you and dad with the money I made mowing Mrs. Miller's lawn. I thought you would like something special."

"What about something special?" The voice asking the question came from the door and made both boys jump up, Dean almost spilling his coffee in the process.

"Whoa dad, don't do that."

"Hey, gotta keep you on your toes, don't I?" John asked with a smirk, "So what's special?"

"Sammy bought some special coffee for us with the money he earned mowing lawn." Dean answered.

"You did? Well then let me have some." He smiled, making his way over to the table and sitting down.

Eagerly the youngest Winchester climbed on a chair and pulled a cup off the upper cup board shelf. Jumping down, he went to the coffee maker and filled it with the hot beverage. Carefully he carried it over to the table, where John received it just as carefully.

He watched with rising anxiety as the hunter lifted the cup and took a large drink. Letting the flavor develop in his mouth before swallowing, he appreciatively smacked his lips.

"This is awesome. Never had anything like it before."

"You really like it?"

"I really like it."

"And so do I squirt." Dean added.

A huge smile appeared on Sam's face as he sat down again, hiding the blush appearing on his face behind his glass of milk.

John exchanged a fast glance with his oldest, then turned back to Sam, "There is something else I liked." Waiting until his son set the glass down, he continued with a serious face, "I know I was too tough on you, we talked about that already. I do have to make a good hunter out of you though, because that's the only way to protect you."

Seeing the little boy's expression, he hurried to say, "Sammy, the research you did for the hunt I just came from was spot on. I know I didn't believe you that James McCullen had demonic connections while he was alive because other than the one summoning text in his first published book there was no proof for it. Yet all the time while I dug the grave and then salted and burned the bones, I just couldn't get rid of this gut feeling. So I recited the banishing ritual you insisted I would take with me."

"What happened?" Dean knew his dad wouldn't just tell this story, if everything would have been okay.

"I was halfway through, when the earth started to shake and flames started to shoot out of the grave. I was lucky I was standing outside the salt circle, because everything inside it got burned to a crisp. Believe me; I never finished reading a ritual this fast. In the end there was a loud explosion that threw me back and knocked me out."

"Wow, you're okay?" Dean asked with worry in his voice.

"Yeah, thanks to Sammy I just got a slight bump on the back of my head; nothing to worry about." John said, then turned back to his youngest, "You know that you saved my life, don't you? I'm really proud of you."

Before John knew it, Sam ran around the table and jumped onto his lap, throwing his arms around his neck. Surprised by the show of love, John suddenly realized how much his stubborn and rebellious little boy must have craved to hear those words from him. Not just as a reassurance, like when he told him in the hospital, but actually as a response to something he did. Wrapping his arms around the small body, he leaned into the embrace, savoring the moment, while his eyes locked with Dean's. And for just that short time in the middle of the way to small kitchen, in a run down little apartment; their messed up world was perfect and bright.

FIN

_So what you think? Let me know, because reviews make my day. And go on and check the rest of the "Winchester Single Shots" out. Hugs, Vonnie_


	6. Two Ghosts and the Darkness

.hmmessage P { margin:0px; padding:0px } { font-size: 10pt; font-family:Verdana }

_A/N: Hey everyone, this here is the wonderfully brilliant, talented Darksupernatural's fan fic challenge, where all the brilliant minds of storytelling come to life right here! Please check everyone's. :) And thank you girl for inviting me and giving me the opportunity to do this! *hugs* I admit I was a little stunned by the invitation, and I hope this was not a disappointment, lol. :) Cheers for the first of many!_

Two Ghosts and the Darkness

Dean rubbed at the tense muscles in his neck as he tried to keep exhaustion at bay, all the while keeping one hand on the steering wheel, every once and a while roving the Impala around the potholes illuminated by the Chevy's highlights. Taking one look at his sleeping baby brother passed out in the passenger seat, leaning against the door, he thoughtfully lowered the volume of the radio, Lynyrd Skynyrd's _Free Bird_ softly blaring out. _Sammy's just as exhausted as I am after that damn poltergeist hunt_, Dean thought absently.

Turning his attention back on the road – and just in time to avoid yet another nasty pothole – he started looking around for a motel to hole up for the night in the small town of Springer, New Mexico. He really wanted to keep going and head to Truth or Consequences to do that wendigo hunt Bobby sent them on, but knowing how pooped out both of them were, he knew they should at least get a good night's rest before driving about 260 miles to their destination.

His cell vibrated to life just as he pulled to a stop in front of the motel's front office. Not recognizing the number and not wanting to wake Sam up, he quickly got out of the car and answered whoever was on the phone.

"Hello?" he answered awkwardly.

A gruff voice cleared itself over the line before answering back, "Is this Dean Winchester?"

_What the hell?_ Dean walked to the front of the car and sat on its hood before clearing his throat, "Who's asking?"

A long sigh followed, "My name's Juan. Juan Sanchez. And I was told to call a specific Dean Winchester. Said you could help…help me with my problem."

_Okaaayy, that still didn't explain how you got my number, man…not to mention it's like one in the morning_, Dean thought, annoyed. "How'd you get this number?" he asked, not realizing he voiced his thoughts.

Juan sounded surprised at that. "A-a friend of yours gave it to me. S-said you could help," he repeated lamely.

Glancing back at his brother, Dean realized Sammy was wide awake and looking at him in puzzlement. He shrugged a shoulder at him. Turning back to the man on the phone, he demand, "And just who might this 'friend' be?"

Juan hesitated, "I-I…don't know. He never gave me his name."

"Well, what did he look like?"

"I-I don't know…I never saw him. He just called me a week ago and told me to call you." The intimidation could easily be detected in the man's voice.

Dean scoffed, "You waited a week before calling me?"

"Excuse me for not calling you sooner – I had a wife to bury!" the man almost shouted defensively with a deadly edge to his voice, all intimidation gone.

Dean winced, suddenly feeling bad, "My apologies. I'm sorry for your loss." Not knowing what else to say, he went straight on to business, "How can I help you?"

Juan calmed down somewhat, but still a bit agitated, "My wife was murdered by some weirdos," he paused, no doubt to collect himself, "and I want answers."

Dean got off the hood and started walking to the front office, ending in a simple, "I'll see what I can do," before clinking off.

******************************************************************************

"Hey Dean, we're here," Sam announced as he brought the Impala to a stop in front of the home of one Juan Sanchez, a bed & breakfast called _Daises Bed & Breakfast_ in Temple, TX, a long way from New Mexico, and which took a few more days to arrive.

Dean groaned in his sleep before opening one eye to see for himself that they were indeed at their destination and not when Sam thought he_ had_ enough shut-eye. He groaned again as he made all the necessary cracks and pops in his achy joints. _Damn, nothing beats a bed any day…sorry baby, I love you an' all, but sometimes you are just too uncomfortable._

After getting off the phone with the grieving widow, and after getting their room for the night, filling Sam in on the conversation, and calling Bobby to see if he would be able to do the wendigo job ("Sure, just got off a hunt myself, damn chupacabra, but you and your brother best be looking after yourselves, ya hear?"), he was past exhausted. He even surprised Sam by collapsing in bed and snoring away in his dirty, sweaty clothes.

Looking at the two-story, aqua blue home with white shutters that contrasted nicely with the perfectly shaped, luscious green bushes, and noticing that the surrounding smaller buildings looked quite similar, made Dean looked appreciatively at Sam, "Looks like our luck's starting to turn."

"Really? How so?" Sam quipped, "Is it because you're hoping we get to stay and eat here for free or you're hoping this might actually be a paying job?"

"With our brand new luck, both." Dean said, "Besides, you're the one that taught me not to go looking a gift horse in the mouth. Man, it's about time we got an easy job that's not only a paying job, _but_ one where there's free grub."

"I taught you that? Wow Dean, I'm touched. I mean I think that's the first time you've ever really listened to me. And besides, you know as well as I do bro, that our lives aren't always that easy," Sam said as he got out.

Dean followed suit, "Of course I listen to you…I listen to your pissy mood whenever you get your hair rollers on crooked. You whine when you don't get your happy meal and you bitch when I don't pay enough attention to you."

Sam was about to make a snarky comeback, one that would make his older brother glow with pride, but seeing Juan coming out to meet them, he decided to let it slide for now.

Or not.

"Jerk," Sam threw to his side before coming within earshot of Juan.

"Bitch," Dean threw back, smirking.

At 5'7 with a small beer gut, stocky shoulders, and grey barely tinting around the edges of his short army-style hair as well as the edges of his mustache which sat atop full lips surrounded by a square jaw, Juan Sanchez's medium height could fill a room just as good as any six-footer because it all boiled down to his easy-going presence.

"Mr. Winchester, thank you for coming on such short notice. I hope my place wasn't too hard to find," Juan greeted Dean. Glancing at Sam, Juan mistaken him to be a customer and said briskly, "We are no longer taking patrons in until further notice,"

Dean looked amused but stopped at the wounded, insulted look on Sam's face. Turning to the elder man, he cleared his throat and said, "First of all Mr. Sanchez, call me Dean. Second of all, this here is my little brother, Sam."

Startled, Juan flexed his jaw before shooting Sam a suspicious look and then looked accusingly at Dean, "I thought I was expecting _just_ a Dean Winchester. Just you. Your friend told me that I could count on _you_."

Sam looked just as startled and offended, all the while giving his brother fleeting suspicious looks as well.

Dean gave the man a tight smile that glinted dangerously off his hazel green eyes, "Listen Mr. Sanchez –"

"Juan," the man corrected.

"Juan," Dean said, "Sam here is my brother and there is no other man I trust to have my back than him."

Sam raised his eyebrows at that, feeling deeply touched by Dean's compliment. He knew he shouldn't have felt that way mainly because he _knew_ Dean never trusted anyone save for him, Bobby, Jim, Caleb, and John, but to _hear_ his brother say it out loud…it was very rare yet one of those few precious moments that meant a lot.

Juan still looked distrustfully at Sam, taking in all of the younger Winchester's 6'4" tall frame, but thought better of making a wiseass remark for fear of losing his one last hope of gaining answers. "Follow me," he said curtly.

He led the hunters to his office, a nice medium size office with a big window showing the view of the customer parking lot and a private golf park just beyond that. The office was neat – too neat. Three black filing cabinets lined up behind Juan's desk and on the left wall was a large, maple bookcase loaded with some of the best literary literature – Hemingway, Hawthorne, Chekhov, Crane, O'Conner, and Poe to name a few – while the opposite wall was littered with diplomas, certificates, and an assortment of daisies.

Juan seated himself in the black, leather office chair behind the dark cherry wood of his desk, signaled the brothers to take the similar black, leather chairs across his desk, and fixed them with an intense gaze.

Wanting to be on the man's good side and trust him, Sam right away started, "Sir, can you tell us what happened?"

Juan considered Sam's words carefully, pain and grief clouding his eyes briefly, before answering, "My _wife_ died. My Rosario. She died _in_ my arms…and I want to find out who did it."

Sam looked puzzled, "Uh, you mean 'what'?"

"Huh?"

"'What.'," Sam repeated, "'What' did it. Not 'who'."

"'What'?" Juan looked at him like as if he had somehow, some unexplained reason, sprouted two heads, "No, I mean 'who'. I wanna know who those sonofabitches are and I want justice!"

The brothers exchanged glances.

Mistaking their look for uncertainty, Juan quickly said, "Look, I'll pay you guys. It's not much, but I'm willing to pay. To get answers for my wife's murder…I'll pay."

Dean, who half of him was hoping the job would pay, felt bad, _wrong_, for taking money from a still devastated widow. He shook his head, and surprising Sam, said, "That won't be necessary."

The man sighed in relief.

"But why don't you start telling us everything you know?" Dean asked cordially.

Juan was about to tell him what he told him before about his wife being murdered by weirdos, but one look at the brothers' uncanny, identical, and solemn attentiveness expressions, he launched, "My wife and I…we bought the old Winston place four years ago and we renovated it into a bed and breakfast. It was my wife's dream," he chuckled a little, "I mean my wife's favorite flowers were daisies…it was how we got the name _Daisies Bed and Breakfast_."

He cleared his throat, "Business was slow when we first started, but it started to really pick up a month later…that was when the first murders happened." Juan collected himself before continuing, "Soon rumors grew, people got scared…and our business was hurting."

"So let me get this straight," Sam cut in, "you ignored these murders that were happening right under your nose, until _after_ your wife died?"

Juan looked affronted…not to mention outraged. "Police were here, day after day, year after year, crawling all over the place. They even told me to buy a few of those security camera thingys. I did. Still, it didn't work."

"So what happened after that?" Dean interjected quickly, trying to get between Juan and his brother since the old man looked like he was about to launch himself on Sam.

Juan looked at Dean like if he was deaf. "My _wife_ died."

The brothers exchanged an awkward look as Sam asked, gesturing around them, "What can you tell us about the Winston place?"

"Does it matter?" the grieving widow demanded, "What the hell difference does that make? My _wife_ died," he repeated, voice cracking at the end.

"We just want to be very thorough," Dean said.

After a few moments, Juan said, "Daniel and Rosemary Winston were one of Temple's wealthiest residences. Mr. Winston was a very successful stockbroker and his wife was a school teacher. Story goes, Rosemary had set her mind on marrying her high school sweetheart, Greg Masters, after he returned from Vietnam, but didn't wait when she met Daniel. After those two were married, she had just sent a 'Dear John' letter on the day Greg was shot. He never got it. When he arrived back to Texas and found the love of his life married and expecting…let's just say it didn't go too well. Before anybody knew what was happening, Greg stormed into the Winstons' home and killed them. After that regrettable action, he killed himself. Some say he was suffering from PTSD, and some say he was possessed."

This time the brothers exchanged a _knowing_ look. "Mind if we look at the security tapes?" Sam asked, using his ever-reliable, best puppy-dog eyes.

"Mind if we stay here for a while – for free?" Dean asked hopefully, doing his best to mimic his brother's puppy-dog-eye expression.

It seemed to work because Juan just looked between them before shaking his head and mumbled, "Why not?"

******************************************************************************

In their room on the second floor, Dean sat on his heavenly, incredibly oh-so-soft bed and looked through the tapes on the TV set – "Wow Sammy, we actually got a room with a DVD player and over one hundred-fifty channels!" – for anything out of the ordinary. On the next cloud of heaven, Sam sat with his laptop open and his research pooled around him.

"Hey Dean?" Sam piped up.

"Yeah?" Dean said, taking his eyes off the screen momentarily to glance at his brother.

"What did Juan mean when he said a 'friend' of yours called him?"

Dean shrugged his shoulder, "Beats me dude."

Sam thought for a second, raking his brain for who the mystery 'friend' might be, "Well…we don't really have a lot of those, friends I mean…not who they would go all that trouble to give us hunts – not since Dad died anyway – but…should we worry?"

"Nah, that's another problem best saved for another day. One problem at a time, man," Dean said as he went back to the tapes.

Soon the sound of typing, scribbling, paper shuffling and the mechanic sounds of the VCR filled the silence between them.

"Hey man," Dean said suddenly, pointing to the screen and drawing Sam's eyes away from the laptop screen, "I think I got somethin'."

Dean rewound it a bit and stopped it, revealing a crazed-looking soldier in a Vietnam uniform, a Remington 870 pump-action shotgun poised in the air and ready to shoot.

Sam looked impressed. "I'm impressed Dean. You've managed to get a full-fledged spirit on camera. TAPS would be so proud of you," Sam teased.

"Bite me. So, geekboy, what have you found?"

Sam scratched his head a bit and replied exaggeratedly, "Where do I even start?"

"Smartass"

"Shorty"

"Hey, I ain't short! You're the sasquatch, Gigantor!"

"Jerk"

"Bitch"

"Okay," Sam said, all serious now, "well what Juan told us coincided nicely with what I was able to find out. As we know, Greg killed Rosemary, her husband and their unborn child. Here's an old Vietnam photo of Greg which looks exactly like the spirit you were able to find in the tapes."

"So we are definitely dealing with a spirit?"

"I'd say so."

Dean cocked a brow at him, "What the hell is that suppose to mean?"

"I know what you're thinking Dean."

"What?" Dean asked innocently.

Sam scoffed, "You're thinking we should just charge in half-cocked and get the job done that way, aren't ya?"

"Well –"

"No Dean. We are _not_ going in unprepared this time…and I sure as hell don't want a repeat of what happened with the poltergeist where you let it toss you in walls. Besides, we are not gonna get rid of Greg the old-fashioned way of salting and burning."

"Come again?" Dean blinked at him.

"Greg's body was cremated, but since we all know how spirits can still linger by an object, all we have to do is find the object and burn it…and I think you should stay here."

Dean studied his younger brother and asked bluntly, "Why?"

When Sam didn't say anything, Dean prompted, "What aren't you telling me Sammy?"

Sam sighed, "I researched the victims and found some kind of connection between them. I found that all of the victims' first names started with either an 'R' or a 'D'."

"Rosemary and Daniel."

"Exactly. Now you know why I don't want you involved in this hunt."

"Because you're afraid I might get killed because of my name," Dean said this almost bored.

"Dean –"

Dean held up his hand, "Fine. You go and play _Full Metal Jacket_ while I sit with my thumbs up my ass as I wait patiently for your return."

******************************************************************************

"Whatever happened to 'waiting patiently for my return'?" Sam asked, half annoyed, half worried, carrying a bag of weapons, extra flashlights, salt and everything else they may need.

"I couldn't stick my thumbs up far enough and still be comfortable," Dean gibed as he followed his brother out the bed and breakfast and into cold, dark night, carrying a similar bag. "So, do you have any idea what you're looking for?" he asked, looking around for any sign of the ghost.

"Hmmm kinda," Sam answered uncertainly as he moved his flashlight to light up the path before them, leading them to the golf park.

"Now what's that supposed to mean? Either you do or you don't. We can't afford 'kinda' Sammy."

"I know Dean. It's just that according to what I've managed to dig up, Rosemary was given a locket by Greg –"

"So let's get the thing and burn it –"

"It won't be that easy Dean. I've tracked the locket and…it should be around here," Sam said, coming to a halt in front of a very large and very old oak tree.

"What? _In_ the tree?"

Sam rolled his eyes, "No, not '_in_ the tree'. More like _around_ it. She lost it around here."

"Well that's helpful," Dean muttered sarcastically under his breath, but loud enough for Sam to hear.

Sam rolled his eyes again but decided to ignore him.

"Uh, Sammy?" Dean asked suddenly, "How did you say what happened to the victims after their little run in?"

Sam frowned at the serious, calm tone in his brother's voice, and his frown deepened when he looked at his brother's defensive stance, gun already in hand. When he noticed Dean's eyes fixed on something behind him, he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand out – literally.

Sam whirled around just in time to see Greg pointing his shotgun…at something.

Both boys followed Greg's unwavering gaze to a very-pregnant girl a few feet from the tree. Sam was sure she looked familiar, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out where he'd seen her. Dean on the other hand, wasn't about to let her get killed.

"Dean!" Sam dove for his brother when he heard the grunt that accompanied an impact that surprised sound that Dean gave off, a deep "ungh" that scared the hell out of Sam just before Dean's face paled and his knees buckled. The soldier, gray coated and translucent smiled in satisfaction before fading out of sight and disappearing into the moonless night. Sam caught Dean just as his brother's position on his knees shifted and he slumped to the side, his eyes drifting closed.

"Oh God, Dean!" Sam looked his brother over. There was nothing. The well worn leather of his jacket remained unmarred by a powder ringed hole. Sam shifted Dean so that he was flat on the dry fall grass before gently peeling back the leather and the soft brown and rust checked flannel that had been left open over the black tee- shirt. Dean moaned slightly and Sam stilled, hoping that he wasn't hurting his brother. Dean's arm was worked free of the shirt and Sam grasped the neck of Dean's tee, the black fabric protesting the pull as it seemed to cling to the planes of Dean's torso, stretching it to look down inside.

"Sonuvabitch."

There, on Dean's chest above his heart and spreading rapidly to his left shoulder was a mass of deep bruising. The yellows and greens rapidly turning to blue-purple-black as the flesh swelled and darkened. There was no wound, no blood, just the deep and painful bruising. There was still no sign, no hole, no blood.

"Huh." Sam said, his mind racing over the last few minutes' events. The soldier raised his rifle, pointing it at a woman, one both Dean and Sam saw. Sam saw a woman in a long brown skirt and a white blouse with her hair piled high on the back of her head. Dean diving in to knock the woman out of the path of the bullet. Sam saw her disappear as Dean touched her, his form merging for a split second with hers. Solid meshing with insubstantial. He saw Dean staggering a bit as the bullet hit him, saw a splattering of translucent red blood. He saw the bullet bruising Dean but leaving no wound, no evidence it ever even existed aside from the fact that Sam had heard the report of the weapon echoing through the trees, heard Dean's grunt of pain, saw his brother collapse.

"Two spirits? What the hell?" Sam looked at the bruising on his unconscious sibling once more. A picture flashed through his mind, Dean's shoulder passing through the fading spirit, right about her head level. "Damn, that shot would've been fatal. Freakin' ghosts with guns!"

Dean groaned painfully, his eyes moving behind their lids. "Hey, hey Dean? Come on man, wake up." Dean's eyes fluttered open and he blinked at Sam.

"Oh, what the hell, man?"

"Ghost shot ya." Sam helped Dean to his feet, holding a large hand to his brother's chest as he allowed Dean to catch his breath. He gripped Dean tighter as he sagged into Sam's arms. "Easy man." Sam said as he looped Dean's good arm over his shoulders. "Come on. Gonna get ya back to the motel. I'll call Bobby and figure out what the hell is goin' on. You'll be okay Dean."

"I wouldn't be s'sure 'bouthat." Dean slurred as he slumped against Sam's side.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Sam cried as he fought to keep Dean from sliding off his shoulder to the ground. Dean was no lightweight – he'll give him that – so instead of fighting with his unconscious brother, he gently laid him on the ground. The lines on his forehead crinkled with worry when he felt his brother's heart beating rapidly beneath his fingers and heard the laborious breaths. Sam quickly scanned the area around for another appearance of the blasted ghosts and finding neither one, decided it was safe to call Bobby. As he waited for his old friend to pick up, it finally hit him who the other ghost was: it was Mrs. Winston.

"Bobby!" Sam said, not letting the older hunter say 'hello'.

"Sam?" the gruff, familiar voice answered, "Dontcha know what time it is?"

"Listen Bobby," Sam said urgently, "it's Dean. I'm not sure what happened. I mean, one minute he was standing behind me and the next he got himself shot by a ghost! Thing is, there's no sight of a wound. There's no blood…just a lot of awful bruising."

"Whoa – slow down Sam," Bobby ordered, "start from the beginning and don't leave anything out."

Sam sighed as he checked the terrible, darkening bruises and grimaced when he saw it start to spread across his chest, "You do remember we're in Texas doing that job for the guy that called Dean, right? Well, as it turns out, it's a ghost as usual and we've even pretty much found out who it was, but we didn't expect there to be two of them and now Dean's unconscious and I…I don't know what to do."

_God, I swear that kid's rapid explanation would one day cause a blood clot in my brain an' kill me_, Bobby thought as he tried catching up to the younger hunter's story, wincing when the youngest Winchester's voice broke at the end. _Didn't I just say to __**not**__ leave anything out?_ He thought irritatingly when he realized Sam left a _lot_ of info out. Running a hand down his face tiredly, Bobby said, trying to hide the worry and fear from his voice, "Hold up, kid. Now you said Dean was shot by a ghost, right? And that there's no wound and no blood, right? Well Sam, you did research on what you two were going up against, didn't ya?"

Sam quickly interjected, "The ghosts, their names were Greg and Rosemary, and Greg, he's killed people whose first names either started with an 'R' or a 'D'."

"That's all good and well Sam, but that's not what I meant. _How_ did the victims die? _What_ killed them? Didn't you find _that_ out?"

Sam fumed, "How the hell is that gonna help Dean?"

"Don't cuss at me, boy! I'm helping you," Bobby snapped, the warning clearly evident in his voice, "Besides, you're not helping that brother of yours either. Now focus Sam."

Sam ran his hand across his face before stopping to scratch the two-day-old stubble under his chin, all the while keeping his eyes on his fallen brother and watching him breathe shallowly, "All the victims didn't have a wound or any visible blood, but according to the autopsy reports, they all died of…internal bleeding…from a shotgun wound…even though there were no visible, external evidence…" his voice faltered as his eyes grew big at his discovery._ Shit! It's been under my nose this whole time?!? Why didn't I see it?!?_

"Bingo," Bobby said, scratching his beard and quickly adding, "Sam, I know what you're thinking and I know how much you're beating yourself up over it, and I know how much you hate hearing me tell you that it's not your fault, but right now you don't have time to browbeat yourself. Your brother needs you. And if my calculations are correct, he doesn't have much time left, maybe a few short hours if he's bleeding internally…Sam he's dying."

Sam snapped, jerked even, and his eyes watered, shining with unshed tears, when Bobby said his brother was dying. He blinked back the tears as he looked down at Dean and noted his pale, sweaty features. He placed his hands on his brother's forehead and felt the cool clammy feel of his skin. "I need your help Bobby. I don't know what to do."

Bobby grimaced at that and said regrettably, "I'm sorry Sam, but I can't. I won't be able to get there in time. I'll be too late. But you're the only help he's got. Just quickly find the bones and salt an' burn 'em."

"I can't Bobby. It's not that simple 'cause the bones have been cremated. But there's a locket. If I could just find the locket I could save Dean."

Bobby nodded, "Then do what you have to. And call me when you can, ya hear?"

After finishing the call, Sam turned his attention back on his brother and noted the violent shivers raking up and down Dean's body. Worried, he felt for his pulse and winced at the very weak _thump, thump_ of his heartbeat.

"Dean?" Sam called, all of a sudden wanting Dean awake and telling him off for being such a girl. He was used to seeing Dean so active, obnoxious even, and seeing Dean so still, almost lifeless, sent chills down his spine. Dean's stillness is _un_natural – so _wrong_. No, he needs his brother awake – _fast_.

"Dean? C'mon man, there's no time to rest," Sam said, slapping his brother's cheek, but just as expected, there was no sign, no inkling, of him ever waking up anytime soon. He sat back on his haunches and ran his hand through his brown hair, all the while looking everywhere, hoping to find the locket as if he had Superman's X-Ray vision.

Dean's breath hitched, giving out a low, almost inaudible, rattle deep in his chest, making Sam's scared eyes fly back to him. The hunter almost relaxed somewhat when the seconds ticked by without anything dire happening until Dean's head suddenly shot in an instinctive move to grab more air, mouth hanging open as lungs worked overtime to bring in much needed oxygen. _Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit! Don't do this Dean! C'mon man, you can't! Not now. Not ever._ Sam's thoughts raced through his freaked-out mind as the awful sounds of his brother gasps soon filled the air.

"Dean!" Sam shouted as he swiftly pulled his brother up to an elevated position and settled himself behind him, holding him steady as he tried to teach him the fundamental basics of breathing, "C'mon Dean, in and out. In and out. That's it! Breathe man, in and out."

"Sammy?" Dean gasped out, slowly opening his eyes. He was swimming in the beautiful bliss of unconsciousness when his breaths came out in short, painful gasps as it fought against the increasing, excruciating pain in his chest. He knew it was blood accumulating around his lungs and compressing them, suffocating him. It was the pain and struggle that had him surfacing to the here and now.

"I'm here Dean! I'm here. Just breathe man, just breathe."

"Why," gasp, "you," another gasp, "huggin'…me?"

"W-What?" Sam stammered.

Dean grinned, "Y-youre s-sure…we're n-not…in an L-Lamaze…c-class?"

"Ass"

"Florence"

"Jerk"

"Bitch," Dean gasped before coughing uncontrollably, bringing up blood.

"Just breathe Dean," Sam started coaching again as he rubbed circles on Dean's back.

Dean tried, he really did but his tired lungs wasn't able to bring in air anymore, and so with one final breath, Dean barely gasped out as he grasped Sam's arm weakly, "Cm'pny," before his eyes rolled in the back of his head and went slack.

"Dean?!" Sam said frantically, shaking him. The sound of the grass crackling under someone's foot alerted him to another presence behind him. _Oh hell no!_ Sam's thoughts screamed and thinking it was Greg coming to finish the job he started, he laid his brother back on the ground, grabbed his shot gun filled with rock salt, and swung it around, hoping to put the poor bastard out of its misery.

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!" Juan yelled, putting both hands up in the air, one holding a flashlight.

"Mr. Sanchez?" Sam asked surprise, confusion, and suspicion written all over his face, not ready to put down his gun, "What are you doing here?"

"Juan," the old man corrected. "I was just following you. I wanted to see those sick sonofabitches beg before you put them down like dogs," he finished viciously.

"Juan," the youngest Winchester amended, "first of all, we are _not_ hired killers and…," his eyes shifted on something over Juan's shoulder, "you better duck," Sam barely ordered before he stood up to his full height and aimed the gun at the translucent form of Greg, wondering briefly why he didn't show up sooner.

Juan looked at Sam, half in awe and half in fear, before obeying the young man and dropping to the ground.

Sam waited. Just looked at Greg and waited, standing between the ghost and his brother. He didn't know what he was waiting for – _a showdown maybe?_ – but he didn't like the idea of shooting someone who wasn't even looking at _him_.

Greg's pale blue eyes were fixed like in a trance at a point on the ground as he inched slowly closer.

"Holy shit!" Juan muttered under his breath, clearly terrified.

Sam chanced a glance at the petrified owner, already sympathizing with him at finding out that ghosts were real – only to find out that Juan wasn't looking at Greg but at something over Dean. Looking down and behind him, he saw the ghost of Rosemary, hovering above his brother and crying and whispering something to the silent form before her. Sam wondered if she thought Dean was Daniel, but thought nothing more when the sound of Greg's gun cocking brought him back to the present danger. Sam didn't hesitate when he shot Greg right between the eyes. Looking at where he saw Rosemary, he noticed that she disappeared at the same time Greg did.

Juan didn't know what to believe. He never, _ever_ in a million years, would have thought ghosts exist. That was surely something his wife, Rosario, would believe…but never him. When the danger passed and he saw Sam blast away at yet _another_ ghost, he turned to the hunter and asked, "You mean to tell me…that whoever did the killings…that whoever was responsible for killing my Rosario…was a-a _ghost_? Who are you people?"

Sam blinked at him and lowered his gun. Turning back to his brother and seeing Dean's blue-tinged lips, he knew something was very wrong as the overwhelming feeling of dread filled his heart.

Juan stepped closer and saw Dean's ashen face, dark circles beneath his eyes, and the freckles shown more prominently. Sucking in a breath, he asked shakily, "Is he d-dead?"

Sam was already checking his airway and pulse – and finding none – when Juan asked. His brain was beginning to short-circuit but he managed shaking his head vigorously, "No. He's not dead."_ He can't be._ Looking up at Juan like if he had just noticed he was there, Sam asked desperately, "do you know how to do CPR? And better yet, call 9-1-1."

Sam wasn't discouraged when Juan shook his head sadly. "Here, all you have to do is make sure to tilt his head like this" – he demonstrated by tilting Dean's head – "and make absolutely sure his airway is open. Then you pinch his nose and give two breaths. The only way to make sure his lungs receive the air is by watching his chest rise because that's a sure indication of his lungs expanding. After the two breaths, you place your hands on his chest like this" – again he demonstrated by placing his own hands – "and do thirty swift, firm compressions. After a minute or so, check his pulse which can be found here," – Sam placed two fingers at Dean's carotid artery – "You got all that?" At Juan's timid nod, Sam finished, wasted no time getting up and grabbing his gun.

Dean's dying. He knew it. Dean needed to go to a hospital, but he knew it would be a waste of time considering that there would be nothing they could do. It would just be a way of prolonging the inevitable. No. He knew that the only way to save his big brother is to find the damn locket and burn it…but leaving his brother in the care of a total stranger was unthinkable. He would never leave his brother with a stranger, much less with one who didn't know CPR, but how else would he be able to save his brother _and_ rid the ghost at the same time?

"W-what are you gonna do?" Juan asked as he awkwardly began the life-saving procedure.

Sam didn't answer him but asked, "You know how to fire a gun?"

"Y-yeah"

"Good. Now when you see the asshole, shoot him. Don't ask and questions and don't hesitate," Sam ordered with a dangerous, deadly tone to his voice that clearly meant that he would have Juan's head on a plate if he screws up.

After he got Juan's affirmation, he hiked all the way to the edge of the woods that he had not seen from the owner's outstanding view from his office, and which outlined the park. He had scanned the area where the locket 'supposedly' fell before he realized that Greg had probably tossed it among the trees and moss and bushes. True, he didn't know for sure if the locket was in the woods, had no substantial evidence, but he somehow knew it was around somewhere. It was a hunch.

That same hunch, or his 'freaky ESP' as Dean had so tactfully put it, led him to a small patch of daisies on the ground. He bent down and searched around the flowers until he found what he was looking for. Before he even made contact with the small object, he felt himself being lifted and flown into a tree.

_Damn, am I gonna feel that in the morning_, Sam thought when his ribs got the brunt of it as it collided with the tree. _What is it with ghosts and hard objects? And what's with the whole 'tossing their victims into the hard objects'? And why the hell am I thinking about it now?_ Sam's thoughts clashed with one another as he shook his head to clear it. He stood up gingerly and felt around his bruised ribs to determine if they were crack. Sighing in relief when they were just bruised, he turned to face the invisible foe that had yet to make an appearance.

Hazel blue eyes roaming around the area for the attacker, he barely took one step before hearing two shots fired in the distance, making fear grip his heart in a vice-grip, but knew he couldn't stop to see how Dean and Juan were fairing, knew he had to stop Greg. With new resolve, he made a move towards the locket, but as before, he felt himself flying through the air, this time colliding with a different tree.

Sam felt blood running down the side of his face before being collected on his shirt by a gash on his forehead. This time he swayed when he made it to his feet – and this time he really felt his luck begin to turn when his bruised ribs remained bruised. "What do you want?!" he shouted into the night sky hotly. He was starting to get pissed. No, wait, scratch that. He was way beyond pissed. He was TICKED OFF. Nobody messes with him and his brother and gets away with it!

"Why?" a disembodied voice asked curiously.

Sam had to blink at that because that was not the kind of response he was looking for. Still looking around for the invisible foe, he said, "Uh why what?"

"Why?" it asked again, still invisible.

Taking a wild guess, Sam replied, "Because the murders – everything – it has to stop…and I have to save my brother."

"You know, I never knew Greg. Never knew he existed. Rosemary never talked about him, so I never knew. Never knew he threatened her to leave me. Never knew what was going on until…"

_Daniel_, Sam finally realized who it was. "Until he killed you," he supplied.

"I was innocent. I was a _good_ person. It was _her_ sin, not mine," Daniel said as he finally made an appearance.

"Then why are you protecting the locket?" Sam asked. "If that thing is not destroyed, more people will die."

"Not my problem."

"You're just punishing her aren't you?"

"She should've seen it coming. She should've –"

Sam didn't let Daniel finish as he blasted a round of rock salt at him. Once the spirit of Daniel was gone, Sam rushed to the locket and picked it up. Saying an incantation he knew so well that separated a spirit's hold on an object, he lit it up in flames and watched it burn, hoping it was enough. He jogged back to just in time to see the ambulance pull to a stop in the customer parking lot and the paramedics rushing out with their equipment.

"How is he?" Sam asked, kneeling at the other side of Dean, watching him breathe. _He's breathing? Oh thank God_.

Juan looked like he aged twenty years since Sam had left him to take care of the locket. "I-I think he's gonna make it," the owner said in a strained voice, and looking over his shoulders to see if the medics were not within earshot, he whispered, "Did I just hire myself a couple of ghost busters?"

Sam grimaced a little at that and mumbled cryptically, "Not exactly."

"Then who are you people? A couple of hunters hunting the supernatural?"

"W-would…y-you…b-believe u-us…i-if w-we…s-said…y-yes?" Dean wheezed out.

"Dean!" Sam cried, shocked, "Shit man, you almost gave me a heart attack. I thought I was gonna lose you."

"Dude…s-stop b-being s-such…a-a…girl…Florence," Dean said as he tried to breathe through the pain, "…I-I a-ain't…g-going a-anywhere…b-besides I-I'm…g-going to t-take…you o-out of m-my w-will…"

"Dude, you don't have a will," Sam pointed out.

Dean grinned, "G-good t-thing too…c-cause i-imagine m-me…l-leaving m-my b-baby…to a n-natural…F-Florence N-Nightingale."

"Jerk"

"Bitch"

Juan managed to stifle a smirk at listening to the brothers' banter, glad that no one else had died tonight. He still could not wrap his mind around the fact that ghost truly exist. If they do, then how many myths and urban legends are true too? The old man hoped there wouldn't be many as he got up to help guide the medics to the fallen hunter.

_Yep, he's gonna be alright_, Sam thought as he shook his head at the cocky grin his brother was still wearing. The brothers didn't have more time to talk as the medics surrounded Dean in a flurry, putting him on a gurney, poking him with needles, and placing an oxygen mask around his mouth and nose. Sam overheard one of them mentioned something about Dean suffering a hematoma due to internal bleeding. Seeing his brother flirting with a female paramedic made him more relief and more confident that his brother was indeed gonna be his pain-in-the-ass self in no time.

******************************************************************************

_Goddammit! Sonofabitch!_ His mind screamed in rage, silently seething that his plan didn't work. He had sent Dean on that stupid hunt, hoping it would take him out of the picture, the big picture where it involved Sam. Only Sam. He could have taken care of the older brother himself easily, but that would make him the enemy. He didn't want to be Sam's enemy. Oh no, quite the contrary, he wanted to be Sam's right hand man. _The enemy of my enemy is my friend_. He wanted to be best buds with Sammy-boy. But he couldn't be with Dean around…and he wasn't stupid enough to alert either brother of his plans…not yet anyway. Dean Winchester might have won this round, but he's pretty confident he won't win the next one…


	7. Mind Astray

**Winchester Single Shots: Mind Astray**

**DancerInTheDark101**

"Man, why'd it have to be freakin' witches? Again! Seriously dude, we have all the luck." Dean said, pulling a face that only a mother could love.

"Hey, at least we haven't seen the bitch." Sam said, his hands on the laptop keyboard, fingers flying as he researched the victims of the case.

"Y'know, it' weird man, each set of victims here have been in the papers before. Here, the first couple. The dude went to pick up his then girlfriend at her place for a date. Found it fully engulfed in flames. Said his worst fear was her burnin' to death. He called 911 and ran inside, pulled her out with no injuries. Then, twelve years later, they're still together. Guess what?"

Dean shook his head.

"He ganks her. Burned her alive." Sam scrolled down the info on the computer. "Second set of vics…same thing. When the younger brother was a teen he suffered from clinical depression. Tried to hang himself. His older brother walked in to find him just as the dude started to asphyxiate. Got him down. The brother later wound up seeking counseling for nightmares. Finally got over it until a month ago when the brothers moved into their mother's house to take care of her. The older brother just…snapped and hanged his brother from the oak tree in the front yard."

"So let me get this straight… Those yahoos saw something almost happen to a loved one, called it their worst fear and then they turn around and do that exact thing to the same person?"

Sam nodded. "Pretty much."

"Hex bags?"

"Probably. Nothing mentioned of any weird little trinkets at the scenes though." Sam's lips tightened into a thin line.

"Dude, freakin' crazy ass witches!"

Outside under the swirling gray clouds a shrouded figure watching the brothers chuckled under her breath. Her long black hair fluttered out from under the gray hood of her cloak and she reached a pale hand up to brush it away from her face. "I see his fear in his eyes. It shall become real to him…" She said as she slowly waved a small hand in front of her face. Her green eyes studied the face that held another set of green eyes. She chuckled again and turned away from the window, her gray cloak merging with the gray mist that darkened the night.

Later that day

He tossed and turned in his bed, images flowing through his mind. They were flashes, not complete moving images – sudden flashes of a dark room flowing with water and the Impala. A hospital appeared in the montage of still images in all its white glory. Then came the horror. The feeling of sadness and complete and utter hopelessness filled him as he fought to breathe against the ache in his chest.

Seconds later, it became too much and his eyes snapped open, sweat running into his open eyes as his chest heaved. Oh god, where had _that_ come from? Why of all times was he thinking about that now?

Running his right hand through his hair, Sam stole a glance over to where his older brother was lying in his bed, fast asleep. A smile took over his features as he held back a laugh. Dean was lying on the bed, the covers thrown back to only cover one of his legs and the other foot. He was lying on his front, face buried in the dull gray pillow and his hand resting underneath it, obviously gripping the knife that he adamantly said wasn't there.

Ridding himself of the remains of the nightmare, if you could call it that, and pushed the covers off him before standing and stretching. He heard the cartilage in his spine click quietly, sending an unnerved shiver down his back.

A glance at the digital clock resting on the table between the two double beds showed that it was half three in the morning. God, why was it that he couldn't sleep much anymore? It seemed that he only ever slept a few hours a night now.

As it was, after having dinner – which consisted of a cheeseburger, fries and a beer for Dean, while he had a chicken salad, fries and a coke for himself – they had watched a hideously bad horror movie, before Dean had gone out to 'earn' some money at the local bar while he stayed at the motel, researching the latest hunt.

Dean had stumbled back into the motel around one-ish, slightly intoxicated and sporting a nice black eye, but four hundred bucks richer. Sam had looked up from the laptop, groaning slightly as the sight that was his brother, but relaxed a little at the wad of cash clasped in his hand.

It was then that the brothers had decided to try and get some sleep. The next morning they were going to be investigating into the deaths a little more. Glancing once more at his brother, Sam headed into the small bathroom to have a nice long, _warm _shower before Dean decided to steal all the hot water.

-Supernatural-

"SAM!"

Sam choked back a laugh at the sound of Dean's yell from the bathroom, as no doubt, he had stepped into the shower thinking that it would be nice and warm and was hit with a blast of _ice-cold_ water. Seconds later, the door opened and Dean's head popped out, fury written all over his face. Sam shot him an innocent grin and turned back to the police report he was scrolling through on the computer.

He was so engrossed in the detailed, if not slightly disturbing, report that he didn't even notice Dean sneak up behind him and tipped cold water down the back of his shirt. Sam let out a startled scream that even he would admit was kinda girly and turned, scowling at the laughing face of his brother.

"What ya found out, Sammy?"

A few minutes later, both the Winchester brothers were sitting at the small table, looking through police reports and their dad's journal. The journal brought back memories, both good and bad and Sam was reminded once again why they desperately needed to find him. Jessica's face found its way into his mind and Sam shuddered, her death something he was glad he wasn't having nightmares about very often anymore. Instead, that weird dream had experience the night before flashed into his mind.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice broke through his thoughts and Sam reprimanded himself. The dream analysis could wait until later. They had to focus on the hunt, so that no more innocent people were killed.

"Right," Sam started. "So what do you we know so far, apart from the fact that we _know_ that it's a witch doing the killing? You found any connection between the vics? Anything that would say why the bitch was picking these particular people?"

Dean shook his head. "Apart from the fact that they both live in the same town, I got nothing. They practically come from different walks of life. The girl who was burned alive by her boyfriend was a model for some swimsuit company, the boyfriend being her manager. The brother who was hung worked at the local supermarket, and the one who did the hanging was at college studying to be a psychologist. Apparently, he was on a break and had come down to see his brother."

Sam groaned. They had nothing. After everything they had researched, they had nada.

"Right, so I guess we better go talk to those who did the killing, huh?"

Half an hour later, the brothers sat in front of a middle-aged man with brown hair and a receding hairline. There was purple bags underneath his eyes, a haunted, glazed sheen covering the blue-gray irises. He was pale, hands shaking beneath the table that he was trying desperately to hide.

"Mr. Karlyle?" Dean spoke, his voice deep and authoritive. Sam glanced over at his brother, noticing the focused, stern look possessing his features. Dean was taking the case very seriously and for that, Sam was thankful. It always made him nervous when Dean decided to goof around when on a case.

"Yeah?" Jeff Karlyle's weak and trembling voice broke through Sam's thoughts. He could see Dean frowning from the corner of his vision and mentally shook himself. He had to stay focused.

"I know this is going to be a difficult question to answer, but we need to know the truth." Dean was really playing the FBI part today. Sam leant forward at the questioned issued by his brother, eager to see what the answer of the inevitable question was going to be.

Dean took a deep breath before continuing, steeling himself. "Why did you murder your girlfriend, Mr. Karlyle?"

Silence followed the statement. Jeff dropped his gaze, staring at some stains on the carpet, a single tear leaking from a blue eye. Sam watched the crystalline drop roll down Jeff's cheek before falling to the floor with a quiet splash. It seemed, as soon as that first one fell, it unlocked the floodgates and released a torrent of tears.

Watching in astounded shock, Sam shared a look with Dean as Jeff Karlyle cried over the death of his girlfriend. Sam really didn't want to have to stop the grieving man, but they needed to know the reasoning behind the murder of his partner.

"Jeff?" he asked quietly, hoping not to startle the man too much. Jeff's head shot up, a small gasp slipping out as his eyes widened. He wiped a hand over his eyes to stem the flow before looking back at the brothers. Sam caught the haunted look in the man's eyes, a flicker of doubt reaching the forefront of his mind. Jeff seemed really torn up about his girlfriend's death. He was beginning to wonder how he could have murdered her in the same way he was terrified of her dying. It just didn't make sense…

"I… I – I don't know…" Jeff stammered, voice hitching as sobs wracked his body.

"What do you mean, 'I don't know?' You murdered the poor girl!" Dean's angered voice cut across the otherwise quiet room. Sam flinched at the unwavering rage in his brother's voice. Throwing a glare Dean's way, Sam turned to Jeff, smiling at him in an attempt to undo the damage that Dean's angered statement had wrecked.

"Carry on, Mr. Karlyle," Sam motioned, hoping like hell that Jeff would take the bait.

"I… I don't know why I k-killed Meredith. We were happy. We've been together forever, y'know? I l-loved her. Sure, we had some fights – like every n-normal couple does. B-but when I h-heard Meredith scream and s-saw her…" Jeff trailed off, taking a few gasping breaths before composing himself. "I saw her bur…burning, I s-stopped. I can't remember why I d-did it… I can't remember b-burning her…"

The last word trailed off into a fit of sobs, the man burying his face in his hands as the tears fell. Sam shared a look with Dean before standing and placing a hand on his shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Karlyle. I know this has been hard for you."

Without another word, the Winchester brothers left and let the security guards take away the grieving man.

-Supernatural-

The dark room was back, the desolate place that hadn't been inhabited for years. The old wood creaked with every step, moaned under the weight of the people walking over the rotting boards. Wind howled outside, a symphony of agony. A sudden burst of pain ripped through him, taking him completely by surprise and he gasped at the abrupt surge.

A flash of white light erupted in his vision before fading to black. He could hear voices, distorted as if they were speaking under water. He couldn't understand what they were saying, no matter how hard he tried. And then he heard his voice and all the hollow grief lacing the unrecognizable words. Then he woke up.

Shooting upright, Dean swallowed reflexively as sweat created trails that flowed down his face to gather on the collar of his shirt. His breathing was shallow and fast, as if he had woken from a nightmare.

Groaning in frustration, the elder Winchester glanced over to where Sam was lying, asleep. Sam's shaggy brown hair fell over his closed eyes. Mouth hanging open slightly, his breathing was deep and even, his chest rising and falling ever so slightly. As Dean watched, Sam moaned and screwed his eyes shut tighter and rolled over so that his back was to his brother.

A flash of hurt ripped through Dean. He knew that Sam turning over was a natural act, but for some reason, it hurt. It felt like Sam was turning his back on him, walking away.

Pushing back the thoughts of self-loathing, Dean slid back under the covers, pulling them up to his chest and stared at dirty ceiling. A multitude of colors swirled before his eyes as he thought about the strange dream he had experienced. It hadn't made any sense. The dark rooms… the blinding flash of light… the voices. None of it fit. Yet, somehow, it did. Somewhere among the flashes of image and distorted sound, it fit.

The dream had been coming to him every night for the past few days. Ever since they had started this hunt, things had been a little out of whack. Dean had noticed it straight away, and he wasn't even sure if Sam had noticed it yet.

Shivering, the hunter pulled the blankets tighter around himself and buried himself deeper within them, fighting the chilly mid-morning air now that the adrenaline from waking from the strange dream had started to wear off.

As Dean eventually drifted off to sleep, he glanced over at the window, frowning as a dark shape marred the light coming from the moon through the lightly curtained glass. A passing thought formed about it, but before he could do anything more, the shape moved. It was just a branch swaying with the wind. Gripping the knife kept under his pillow, Dean succumbed to the incoming darkness.

-Supernatural-

Sam stared down at his brother, rage swirling through his mind, darkening his thoughts to the point of making them murderous. It somehow didn't feel right, but he was so lost to the emotion that he was unable to fight. Sam's hands shook, from fright or rage he wasn't sure. He felt something push at him again and his face twisted into a sneer. He lifted his arm, raising the pistol clenched in his fist. Dean's green eyes snapped open and took in the form of his brother looming over him.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, propping himself up on his elbows. "Sammy, what's goin' on?"

"It's Sam." he said, dropping a heavy fist holding the butt of his pistol against Dean's temple. Dean grunted and fell back against the pillow.

"Nnnuhh…" Dean groaned, lifting his head to try to blink the seeping blood out of his eyes. His world spun on its axis and he groaned again, feeling bile rise to burn the back of his throat.

"I see you're awake."

"Samm- Sam, what's goin' on with you?" Dean looked at his brother, standing ramrod straight with his right hand concealed just behind his right thigh, as if he was hiding something from Dean's sight.

Sam didn't answer, instead he looked around the small, dark room, Dean following suit as best he could, his raised arms tied over his head blocking the view he'd catch with his peripheral vision. "Look familiar to you Dean?"

"I've seen this room before. In dreams. The past couple days- Sam, listen to me, somethin' messed up is goin' on here. Sammy, this isn't you."

"Oh Dean, I think it is. And you know what? You keep telling me that I'm not gonna go dark on your watch. You keep telling me nothing bad is gonna happen to me while you're around. You keep telling me that you're going to save me. Y'know what? Me turning into something I'm not, that's not my fear, it's yours. It's yours Dean. And it's coming true." Sam lifted his hand, holding out a small black object that Dean couldn't make out in the dim lighting.

"Sam, what?" Sam smirked and tucked the object into his pocket, turning around and reaching for what Dean thought was a bucket that was sitting behind him. He picked it up and Dean felt icy water cascade over his body and rob his breath. He gasped.

"Ya see Dean, You're in my way. In the way of destiny. I'm tired of it. You holding me back. It's time for it to end." Sam pulled the black object from his pocket and held it up in front of Dean's face. It was a taser, one of the seriously ramped up ones from the trunk.

"Sammy, no." Dean said, shaking his head and trying to force himself away from Sam where he hung, his toes barely connecting with the concrete beneath his feet. "Sam, please."

"Good bye Dean." Sam held the taser directly to Dean's neck. Dean flinched at the cold touch of the prongs, the metal seeming colder than the water that had sluiced down his body. Sam pulled the trigger on the gun. Dean's body locked up, going rigid as a bright light flashed through his body and the room. The blue energy raced through Dean and finally ceased as Dean's body sagged against the ropes, his eyes closed, unmoving. Not breathing.

Sam sat upright on the bed, his heart pounding and a scream echoing throughout the room.

"Sammy!" Dean cried, jumping out of the bed to hunch over Sam, catching him by his quaking shoulders. "Sam, what is it man?"

Sam shoved past Dean, a sob ripping through him as he bolted for the bathroom. Dean followed closely, supporting Sam as he fell to his knees in front of the toilet. Sam heaved, sobbing, and Dean leaned in, gripping him from behind to hold him up. Finally the heaves ceased and Sam fell back against Dean, his strength gone. Dean brushed Sam's hair out of his eyes and helped him to lean back against the bathtub. Sam's legs rested askew on the floor for a moment before he pulled his knees to his chest and buried the butts of his palms deep in his eyes, scrubbing the uncontrollable tears away. Dean squeezed his shoulder reassuringly and stood, going to the sink to wet one of the washcloths that rested in a small basket on the counter. He returned to Sam and pulled his hands away from his eyes gently. They were rubbed red, bloodshot and haunted. Sam refused to look up, his hands falling to rest over his knees, shaking. He stifled another sob and released a shaky breath. Dean wiped Sam's face, holding the cloth over his eyes for a second before removing it and refolding it, placing it against the back of Sam's sweaty neck.

"Wanna tell me what happened Sammy?" Sam shook his head vehemently, remaining mute.

"Come on man, you gotta tell me what happened to have ya so upset."

"We're leaving. NOW. I c- I can't do this hunt. I won't. We're leaving." Sam said, standing and rushing from the room. Dean stood and followed at a fast pace, trying to keep up.

"Sam!"

Sam shook his head, putting his cell phone to his ear after punching a button on speed dial hurriedly. "Bobby? It's Sam." Sam listened for just a moment, Dean hearing Bobby's happy sounding gruff voice over the line. "Hey listen, we need you to pass off a hunt. We can't take it." Sam gave Bobby the specifics of the hunt and finally spoke one more time. "Bobby, make sure that whoever takes this hunt works alone."

Dean stared hard at Sam as he heard Bobby ask something that sounded like "Why Sam?"

"Just…please." Sam disconnected the call. Sam tossed his phone down on the bed and threw his duffel up onto the bed, haphazardly tossing clothing into it.

Dean stepped up and grabbed Sam's shoulders, spinning him. "Sammy, tell me what the fuck happened to you man! I'm worried freakin' sick!"

"You been having dreams…bad dreams over the past couple days? Since we took this hunt?"

"Y-yeah." Dean stammered, images of the small room coming back to him.

"I have too. It's the hunt, the witch. I…" Sam sighed raggedly and collapsed to sit on his bed. "I killed you Dean." Sam said, meeting his gaze and blinking back tears. "We have to leave Dean. Please."

"Okay Sammy. We'll go."

**Two weeks later…**

"_Hey Sam, I talked to Travis. He finished your hunt a few weeks ago."_

Sam swallowed a few times, the sick feeling stirred up at Bobby's words finally fading. "And?"

Dean walked through the motel room door with a grease stained bag of take out food in his hand along with a carrying tray and two large sodas. He stopped and stared at Sam. Sam held up one finger, telling Dean to wait. He listened to Bobby.

"_It was the witch. Turned out all the people who got killed bought it at the same address. The house was rebuilt after the fire. Witch was talking to her sister, a spirit, who was killed and buried in the basement of the house. All the murders happened in the basement. All the vics were lured there by dreams, thinking they could save their loved ones, that they were in trouble. The murderers relived their fears in their own dreams, acting them out like they were sleepwalking."_

"Wow." Sam said, letting out a breath as he raked a hand back through his hair. "Thanks for letting me know Bobby."

"_Anytime kid." _Sam hung up the phone and looked at Dean as he put the bag on the table.

"What'd Bobby have to say?"

"Travis finished the hunt."

"And?"

"And I've never been so freakin' glad to put a town in the rearview."

"That bad?"

"That bad."

"Huh. Let's eat, and then hit the road. Got a salt and burn."

"Where?" Sam asked, taking a drink of his Coke.

"Roswell."

Sam snorted, wiping his mouth as he gagged around the fizzy liquid. Dean laughed.

**END. **

**Please leave a review.**


	8. Wraith of the Forest

**A/N: This is the direct result of some poking and prodding to join in on darksupernatural's Winchester One Shots, round 2. Yeah, like anyone had to twist my arm! LOL! Anyhow, I hope you all like it... the first scene is the one given to me by none other than darksupernatural herself, and I must say it makes a fabulous start, don't you agree? Everything after that is mine. So... Kris take a bow for your awesome idea!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing of Supernatural or any of Kripke's creations except for the DVD's, some graphic novels, a couple novels and a reference book. Not what they're talking about? Well, duh... don't own the rights to the franchise or the boys... now if Kripke would like to share... **

**darksupernatural's A/N: *snickers* Who the heck is Pagan kidding? I was floored when she said she'd play the game. She took a little scene with a lot of wiggle room and came back with this amazing story that had everything I could have asked for. Welcome to the game Pagan!**

**Also, Thanks so much for giving us all the great response to this that it's gotten. Please keep reviewing for us. We're enjoying the challenges from each other and the welcome you've all given this project.  
**

**Wraith of the Forest**

Icy cold hands gripped him, stealing his breath with their chill. He felt fear and then just the paralyzing numbness that took him over. He saw the hag's face, the milky white eyes with the eerie blue cast to them, the gray wrinkled skin and gaping mouth ringed with sharp pointy teeth. Her breath smelling vaguely of death and ozone assaulted him as the mouth opened to reveal a blackened tongue. He felt more than saw her focus on him, pulling his life into her as the gaping maw was the only thing directly in his line of sight. He felt his heart skip a beat and then slow to the point he could feel every beat, every thuuu-thuuummp as if it took a lifetime to finish that sound.

He felt the cold steal into his bones as she took what she needed of him, forging the connection that would feed her. Sam felt her robes against him, her emaciated frame to him feeling like a woman's curves, his eyes fogging to the point that he saw the raven, silky hair instead of gray matted locks, felt the satin of youthful skin instead of the coarse parchment of dead flesh. He felt smooth hands caress him, instead of broken, bony talons with yellowed nails. He felt a fever build to a conflagration in him, his heart speeding up to near bursting before darkness took him. He never felt his legs fall out from under him; he never felt her drop him. He never heard the gunshot that sent her into hiding, skulking deep into the ancient forest like the wraith she was.

"Sammy!" Dean fell into the dry leaves at Sam's side, seeing his pale features, seeing the sheen of sweat that plastered his long hair to his face and made his waxen skin glisten. Dean reached out to touch him and recoiled before ever making contact with his brother. Four inches away from Sam's neck, and Dean could feel the radiating heat. "Oh god." Dean said, reaching out after steeling his nerves and hauling Sam's head out of the leaves. He held Sam against his chest, the heat causing sweat to break out on his skin beneath his shirt. Sam's flesh steamed in the late Autumn air and Dean gently brushed away old leaves that clung to the moisture. "Sam, c'mon. I gotta get you outta here."

Dean lifted Sam to his feet, Sam swaying against him, eyes closed, breathing labored. Dean could feel the too fast beat of his heart, the heat boiling through him, the shudders racking his frame. He pulled Sam into a fireman's carry, straightening him and pulling him close with a grunt before Dean began the walk back to the car parked at the edge of the forest. His steps were quick and sure, following the game trail that had led them to the interior of the forest.

***

Dean lowered Sam into the back seat of the car and straightened, bones in his back cracking from the strain. He slid behind the wheel and pulled out with a bark of rubber against pavement, heading down the road. Sam moaned from the back seat and Dean stole a glance behind him, seeing Sam's face scrunched up in pain. Sam's back arched as he gasped for breath, sweat running down the sides of his flushed face. Dean slammed on the brakes and stopped the car, the motion rocking Sam against the back seat as he threw the gearshift into park. "What the hell?" Dean turned in the seat and was about to put a hand to Sam's chest when Sam moaned again and sagged, the pain lines smoothing out of his face.

Dean checked Sam's pulse, still finding it too fast and him too hot, but in no pain. He turned and shifted the car to drive, pulling out again; the edge of the forest only a half mile away now. Sam again cried out, gasping. Dean cursed, stopping the car again before he saw a broken down cabin just at the edge of the forest. He pulled the Impala into the area where a driveway had once been, weeds now covering what had been a smooth gravel surface. Dean killed the engine and slid from the car, pulling his gun. He walked to the cabin and opened the door, having to force the swollen wood out of the frame. Dust covered everything inside, including a faded, mildewed couch. A fireplace took up one wall and a small stack of dry wood rested on the mantle.

"I can't take him outta here. This'll have to do." Dean said to himself as he cleared the house, gun ready before hurrying to the car. He gathered all the supplies he could from the trunk, including two old army blankets, the med kit, a couple guns and bottled water and a couple towels pilfered from a motel in an unremembered town somewhere. He dropped all this on the dust covered floor before making a pallet from the blankets. He then went to the car for his brother.

**

He was tired, it didn't take a genius to figure that out, but then again… he'd never been accused of being a genius – that was more his little brother's thing. Now though, he worried about whether he was going to be able to take care of Sammy in the piss poor conditions they were dealing with. It had taken longer than expected to get a fire started in the fireplace, and with the small amount of wood he had he didn't expect it to last long. The wind had picked up and continued to find new cracks in the walls and window sills leaving him to deal with drafts throughout the cabin in an attempt to keep Sam from falling more ill, which led to his biggest worry – Sam's fever.

It hadn't taken but a few minutes to assess that his brother's temperature was rising to a dangerous level, but he had known that without heat they'd be screwed, so he had made a judgment call and dealt with the fire and drafts first. Now though, he was wishing he hadn't been such an idiot. With Sammy lying unconscious on the pallet, ridden with a fever so bad that he had stopped sweating and his breathing reminded him more of a hot dog on a mid-summer day with the quiet panting that was passing through his lips. With those two symptoms glaring at him in the face, he knew he needed to either get Sammy help (which they were too far away from even if the damn wraith didn't have her clutches in his brother), or find a way to bring his fever down. Which was easier said than done seeing as how the bottle of water he had he knew he was going to have to use to prime the hand pump – the very hand pump that didn't want to budge an iota because it was rusted with disuse.

'Damn it!' Dean cursed internally, all the while wondering what the universe had against them. Taking a deep breath, he took his knife out of his boot and began to take cover off the pump in hopes of getting it to loosen up, even a little bit. "Please!" he begged, not aware the single word escaped his mouth as he worked the old mechanisms loose, and suddenly… it moved! Taking only a moment to stare at it in disbelief, he quickly began to put it back together before racing to pour the water from the bottle in, soaking the leather seal, and pumped like mad in order to get the water to flow.

Feeling as if his time was short, he wasted no more time in soaking the nearest towel and racing back to his brother before placing it around Sam's neck while at the same time attempting to remove the layers his brother always wore.

"Damn little brother, you'd think you were modest or something." Dean joked as he gave up the act of gently undressing his brother, settling instead for ripping the t-shirt open before taking another wet towel and placing it on Sam's chest. It wasn't much he admitted, but there wasn't anything else he could do. After looking in the med kit, he remembered that they hadn't taken the fifteen minutes to stop in at a drug store to get more ibuprofen or acetaminophen which meant no fever reducer. He didn't have anyone but himself to blame though, he was the one who had insisted on waiting, the one who had joked about Samantha needing to wait about PMS'ing. Refusing to buckle under the guilt of his joke, he put all his energy into feeding his brother the cool water by sips, and replacing drying towels with fresh damp ones.

Time seemed to drag by as Dean took turns stoking the fire to battle the cold Autumn winds, rewetting the towels to battle the fever, and taking a few extra moments to dribble more water down Sam's throat, none of which made the younger man even twitch. With his features as slack as they were, Dean had to concentrate on Sam's chest to assure him his brother was still breathing. Sighing, he sat back on his heels and tried to work the cricks out of his back and neck. Suddenly he heard something that he hadn't been sure he would hear again – a slight moaning sound coming from his brother.

"Sammy? Hey little brother, you waking up?" he asked as he checked once again Sam's chest to make sure it was still moving, no matter how slight. "Sammy?"

Sam's chest continued to rise and fall in a sporadic rhythm that made Dean worry for his brother all the while wondering why there had been a change, even a slight one, at all. Rubbing his hands across his scalp, he was sure he was missing something vital, but at the moment all he could care about was getting his brother back on his feet and both of them out of there.

Reaching into the med kit again, he riffled through the items and wondered when their supplies had become so low. Suddenly a memory jumped out at him and he knew instantly what had happened, making him feel worse for the teasing he gave his brother about the suggestion to stop off at a drug store. It had been their last big hunt and after battling a poltergeist of all things, he had to be done in by a drunken cowboy with something to prove to his girlfriend. Everything would have been fine except the guy's friends had kept Sam occupied while he had to face off with the cowboy, his two brothers and a crowbar by himself – now if that wasn't Winchester luck. He barely remembered waking up in a different motel room with an icepack on his ribs and head and a worn out Sammy sitting on the floor next to the bed.

"Damn it!" he swore, now remembering how they had rushed out of the neighboring town, with Sammy behind the wheel of the Impala, as soon as they saw the sorely familiar truck drive by twice. "Damn it Sammy, you know I only remember to refill the kit if it's me patching you up." Sighing, he organized the remaining gauze, ace bandage, scissors, burn crème, and…

Something clicked inside Dean's brain and he wondered why he hadn't thought of it to begin with. He had been too late, his brother already under the wraith's spell, already connected to it in a way that would lead to his death if he didn't kill the spectre first. Looking at his supplies, he knew now why there had been a slight improvement in his brother – it was close and it was hungry but waiting for Sammy to gather up strength so it could prolong its feeding.

Looking around the cabin once again he raced to the basin and filled it with as much water as possible, hoping he wouldn't have to use it, before glancing at his brother to make sure he was still with him while on his way to the door. The fire wasn't big enough, and that needed to change. Kicking the old wooden door until it splintered, he took the pieces and tossed them into the fireplace not bothering to watch the fire begin to roar to life. As the cabin began to warm up even more, Dean made a decision that he could only hope he wouldn't regret later – he dragged his brother as close to the hearth as possible and rushed back to the med kit for the final touch.

***

Sam knew he was in Hell; that was the only explanation he had for the intense pain, weakness and heat he was enduring. He could hear something rustling, getting closer, but he had no idea who or what it was. All he knew though was his brother wasn't there, and that was good, he'd do anything to keep his brother safe, to keep him out of the pits of Hell.

"Rest my love." The whispers said, getting closer as he became weaker. "Soon, so soon."

He had no idea who that was, but he felt himself drawn to her, as if she was the one who held all the answers, as if she were the only one who could help him. Feeling his control slipping, he knew that he missing something or someone… someone who could help him figure out what was really happening.

"Dean?" he called out, or at least he thought he had, but did it really matter if he had? His brother wasn't burning with him, so he was sure he wouldn't be heard. Never the less, he whispered once again, "Dean."

***

Dean couldn't believe he was actually thinking about doing this – it was insane. Yeah, ok, so what was new in his life? But really… this was something he never thought he'd ever do – hell, he used to argue with his dad over doing this. Really, it was nuts!

"D'n." He heard Sam whisper, causing Dean to pause in what he was doing, closing his eyes. "Hang in there little brother." He said softly as he continued to wrap a piece of wood from the door with Ace bandage before soaking it with alcohol. Watching his brother from across the cramped space, he could tell that the fever was raging again but Sammy's breathing was improving slightly. He wanted this damn thing here now so he could have the opportunity to kill it, even though it meant risking the one person in the world he'd give everything for.

***

The wind blew throughout the forest, guiding the creature along its way. It had been bound to this form, to this way for too long, only able to exist by the life force of others – sometimes waiting to the point of starvation until a wandering soul came across its path.

Illusion was a benefit for the soul destined to be its nourishment, a way to ease the torment. However, this time, the soul seemed almost… resistant; as if there were another more important. No matter though, its hunger would not be sated any other way, it was time to feed – it was time to end the chase.

***

As the wind picked up, Dean could tell something was different this time. This time Sammy's breathing seemed to calm even as his temperature rose and the slight movements became more lethargic. The worry that Dean had been feeling increased until he could no longer deny the urge to go check on his brother. Keeping the makeshift torch in his hand, he walked across the cabin and watched as Sam writhed upon the pallet as if he were searching for someone… or something. It was at this moment that he realized that they were no longer alone.

Turning around, he saw the wraith's figure seemingly glide inside the cabin, its target already in sight. Slowly, Dean edged away from his brother, keeping his eyes on the figure in front of him, while reaching behind him and listening for the tell tale sound to tell him that this part of his plan was working. The further he got away from Sammy, the closer the wraith made its way towards his brother. Not liking what he was about to do, but not able to figure out any other way to do it, Dean edged around the cabin until his was once again facing the fireplace with the wraith directly in his path.

"Hey, Bitch!" Dean yelled, hoping for the creature would turn towards him, all the while trying to ignore the way his brother seemed to be searching the creature out in his altered state. "I said, HEY!" he yelled once more as he tossed the now flaming torch onto the creature. As it screeched in terror and pain, Dean pulled his gun from his waistband and began shooting it into the chest until it backed into the roaring fireplace, its screeches and hisses echoing through the cabin drowning out Sam's screams as it burned. Seeing his chance, Dean rushed towards his brother and pulled the pallet with his pained brother to the other side of the cabin before turning back to the wraith with the remaining bottle of alcohol and splashing it until it was fully consumed in the flames. Disgusted by the sight of the rotted living corpse burning, its mouth opening and closing in a last ditch effort to pull the remaining energy from its prey, one last effort to save itself.

"Time to go little brother." He yelled as he quickly pulled Sam into a fireman's carry and raced out towards the Impala, leaving the rest of their belongings inside. Seeing that Sammy was unconscious, he took full advantage and placed him into the backseat before starting the engine and racing out of the park, fully intending to get his little brother to the hospital before something else happened.

He had been driving as fast as his baby would let him for twenty minutes before he heard the slight movement in the backseat. Checking the rearview mirror, he pulled over to check on Sam.

"Hey little brother, you with me?" Dean asked as he climbed into the back seat, only now regretting leaving the water behind.

Sam's eyes made the effort to open, but were weighted down and didn't make it to half mast before he rasped out, "D'n?"

"Yeah Sammy, I'm here. How are you feeling little brother?" Dean asked, concern clouding his happy demeanor, his mask faltering.

"Why you h're?" Sam asked; confused about what has happening.

Dean looked shocked at his brother before asking, "Where else would I be Sammy? You're my pain in the ass little brother, where you go, I'm going."

Sam shook his head, trying to fight the tears in his eyes. "No D'n… not h're… not hell. Ple'se no…"

Sitting back, Dean had no idea what to think about what he heard. Not knowing what the wraith had actually done, he could only try to alleviate his brother's fears. "No Sammy… we're not in hell. You have a fever; it's frying your brain… other than that we're both good, ok?"

Trying hard to follow Dean's part of the conversation, Sam's brows furrowed as he processed what he heard. "Not hell?"

"No little brother… not hell. I promise. How about you lay there and let me do all the work, I'll get you to the hospital and…"

"Nooooo… no hospi…" Sam croaked out, trying hard to convey what he wanted, hoping that his brother would understand.

Nodding, Dean understood. "Ok Sammy, no hospital… we'll go to Bobby's instead." He said soothingly, anxious to calm Sammy down. Seeing that he had succeeded, he jumped back behind the steering wheel and began their race to their port of safety.

***

Moonlight reflected off the glass on the nightstand, giving its contents an ethereal glow. Two men sat vigil as they had for three and a half days as the man on the bed continued to linger between life and death.

Bobby had been in his truck backing out of the driveway when the Impala screeched to a halt a mere two inches from his back bumper. Once he saw what was going on though, Bobby stopped his tirade about reckless driving and reached in to help carry the youngest Winchester in the house and up the stairs to get him comfortable and begin the process of nursing him back to health. After hearing about what happened on the hunt, he was amazed at how well Dean had handled the situation, and made sure to tell the boy that very thing.

Movement on the bed woke the two hunters and they both watched as a pair of dark green eyes opened slowly.

"Hey Sammy, good to see you man." Dean said as he made sure he was in his brother's line of sight.

Looking around, Sam noticed the familiar room and relaxed. "Not hell, right?" he asked, taking both Bobby and Dean by surprise.

"No Sammy, we're not in hell, I promise." Dean said, worried that the fever had done permanent damage. Before he had a chance to say anything else though, Sam interrupted him, bringing clarity to the situation.

"Had a dream I was there… then I heard you… worried you followed me… you can't… follow… don't…" Sam sputtered as he grasped Dean's shirt.

Dean held Sammy close and whispered firmly, "No one's in hell Sammy… no one. It's going to be you and me until we're old and gray, got it, Bitch?"

Giving a small smirk, Sam nodded before giving a very tired, "Jerk."


	9. Through the Fire

_**Scene writer: Darksupernatural  
Responder: Soncnica  
**_**  
**_**Darksupernatural gave me the scene (awesome scene btw) and I just went with the flow (kind of ruined Darksupernatural's scene in the process...oops). I love this project and 'm sorry I couldn't write a story for round 1, but real life sucks. But I'm here now, writing and having fun!!! A lot of fun actually...God some of the participants are soooo talented, I feel kind of lost here...like I'm just learning how to crawl or something. Anyways...don't wanna bore you...so...  
Enjoy...**_**  
**

Through the Fire

Sam fired the sawed off at the spirit as she materialized just inside the door out of the room, blocking his exit. She screeched and disappeared. Sam made his way towards the door, cringing as he felt the temperature plummet in the room once more. _Damn, she's strong._ The spirit materialized right in front of him as he stepped through the doorway. She grabbed him with frigid, corporeal hands, sending him flying into the banister. It gave way beneath his weight sending him tumbling head over heels over the edge of the stair case. Sam landed hard on his back, pain causing his vision to darken. He lifted his head, using his elbows to prop him up as he fought to catch the breath that had been knocked from him. Another cold blast of air settled into his bones, ruffling his hair.

"_I burned, inside this house. William, you made me burn. I will have my revenge." _ She appeared again, a kerosene lantern in her hand, the flame dancing brightly beneath the glass chimney. Her dress, once blue gingham, was smoke stained and charred. Her hair, as near as Sam could tell, had once been dark brown or even black, now resting in charred clumps of melted silk against her head. Her fingertips were singed beyond recognition, white bone peeking through and burned to jagged tips. _ "I loved you, and yet you hurt me. Blamed me for something I did not do. You burned me. Killed me. Now I blame you. I will burn you!"_

"Wait! I'm not William. I didn't hurt you! I didn't burn you."

"_Liar!" _she snarled, her once beautiful mouth now a twisted, blackened hole in her blistered face, her yellowed teeth showing through an upper lip that had been burned away. She held the lantern out, her fleshless fingertips releasing it. It fell to the floor with a crash of glass and the splatter of lamp oil that instantly exploded into a bright ball of flame. It spread along the puddle as the old wood greedily soaked up the liquid. The wood began to blacken, smoke billowing up to quickly fill the room as a wall of flame blocked the only door out.

Sam felt the thickening air closing in around him. It was becoming hard to breathe, the stifling heat choking him, his hair matted to his forehead by sweat. He couldn't see, ducking low to avoid the smoke, trying desperately to find another route out of the house. Sam pulled his handkerchief from his pocket, trying to tie it around his mouth and nose to block the smoke that was searing it's way through his lungs. Sam pulled in a smoke tinged breath, gagging slightly as fine ash seeped even through the cotton material.

"Sammy!" Dean yelled, his arm muffling the cry. "SAM!"

"Here Dean!" Sam yelled, coughing violently. His knees buckled and he slid to the floor as his breath was pulled from his body, feeling the heat of the fire as it began to burn through the floorboards.

"Sam!" Dean said, fighting his way through the rising heat, the smoldering boards and timbers of the cabin creaking in protest as he rushed blindly across the floor, his eyes searching for what he was sure would be the huddled form of his little brother. "Come on Sammy talk to me again!"

"Here! I'm here Dean!" Dean heard.

"Hang on!" Dean worked his way across the floorboards, crouching to see beneath the billowing smoke that was beginning to choke him. There. Sam was huddled on the floor, on his knees, a bandana tied around his face, one hand holding him one step away from a face plant. Dean went to Sam's side, hoisting him to his feet. "C'mon Sammy." Dean said softly, putting Sam's arm around his shoulders as Sam sagged into him, his breath rasping through his throat, leaving his covered mouth in muffled, ragged gasps. Dean led him out into the night air, Sam's legs once again falling out from beneath him half way across the dew covered grass. Dean lowered him the rest of the way down, keeping a protective stance over Sam with a gentle hand on his shoulder as he coughed harshly. Dean turned as the old house gave a violent groan and the ground beneath him and Sam seemed to shudder. He watched as the flames shot up when the roof fell in and took two walls of the wrecked building with it.

"Thank god I got you out." Dean said quietly, his hand creeping from Sam's shoulder around to the back of his neck as Dean leaned closer. Sam nodded, finally pulling the handkerchief off his face to rest at the hollow of his throat. His face was covered with soot, a clean line across the pale flesh just beneath his eyes. Tears from his irritated eyes made clean trails from his eyes to the line. "Come on." Dean grunted as he hauled Sam to his feet. "Let's get you cleaned up." He walked Sam slowly to the car and eased him inside, rummaging behind the passenger seat for one of the half empty water bottles that spent it's life rolling around in time with bumps and curves in the road. He unscrewed the lid and handed it to Sam. Sam took it in a shaky hand, pulling in a raspy breath before taking a deep pull. He lowered the bottle, breathing heavily. Dean took the bottle back and poured a little into a hand towel he'd snagged from the back seat. He wiped Sam's face gently, removing soot and tearstains alike. "Ya sure you're alright?"

"Y-yeah. Just, the fire started so quick. The heat and I-I don't know. My head, it went somewhere else."

"Palo Alto?"

Sam lowered his eyes to his soot stained jeans and nodded mutely. "I'm sorry Dean."

"Hey, you look at me for a minute." Dean said, tipping Sam's chin back up. "Don't you ever be sorry. Not for that. Not for lovin' someone enough to think about 'em once in a while."

Sam nodded once more. "Let's get outta here huh?"

"Sounds good to me." Dean said with a smile as he shut the passenger door and circled the car. He got behind the wheel and fired the engine. "You sure you're alright?"

"Yeah. Just need a shower."

Dean nodded and shifted the car from park, pulling away from the smoldering ruins of the old house.

A chilly wind blew through the clearing that once contained the house, sparks rising from the hot coals. The fire flickered out and the sound of creaking timbers could be heard. Broken boards snapped back into place and studs realigned, righting themselves as charred wood became solid, wood grain visible and strong. White paint, although faded with time bled from the wood beneath the soot and once more became bright beneath the moon. Even old curtains waved in the breeze once more from their stand in each window upstairs. One of the curtains shifted, as if held aside for a moment by a hand, by someone looking out. It fell back into place, but not before a flash of blue gingham was spotlighted by the bright moonlight.

The shower was hot, as hot as the fire he was just in. The water ran down his aching body, washing away the soot and the tears. It was surreal, his mind hasn't even comprehended the whole 'I was in a fire' thing, but his body sure as Hell noticed. He was shivering despite the heat of the water; little trembles that he knew were just a way of cooping. Fire. Again. Nice.

It felt like all his life is just one big fire…one after another. Mom, Jess, burning ghosts; and now some bitchy ghost accused him of burning her. His life is seriously awesome.

The shampoo got into his eyes, burning them…just like the fire.

"Damn it."

He lowered his head under the spray, adjusting the water pressure and temperature to low; he didn't want to burn himself. That would come after he's dead. Dean will…

He moved his hands erratically over his face, trying to wash away the burning shampoo, when an icy cold breeze wrapped itself around him, raising goose bumps on his water covered back. He tensed his muscles and moved his head from underneath the shower, scrambled for a towel and wiped his face.

"_You killed me, and now I'm gonna kill you." _

Sam gasped and looked around himself, but seeing nothing: "Shit."

It was a familiar voice; his mind kept screaming at him _JESS!_ but he knew that it wasn't Jess's voice. It was someone else's, someone who…

Just when he wanted to step out of the shower, the water turned scorching hot, steam fogging up the bathroom, making everything dense and foggy. He couldn't breathe, the steam blocking his vision but in the corner of his eyes he could see something blue swooshing through the fog.

Water dripped on his back, the burning sensation ripping through his muscles and he could feel burns begin to form on his back.

He fumbled with the water, trying to turn it off, burning his arms in the process: "Damn."

"_You killed me, William."_

Sam spun around and came face to face with the ghost of the woman he thought he got rid of in the house. Guess not.

"I didn't kill you…I'm not William."

"_Liar!"_

"Listen to me." Sam tried pleading.

The ghost shifted its head, and the water turned off, the steam disappeared and Sam almost stumbled out of the shower, when he tried to step on the floor.

"I am not William." He emphasized each word with his hands, calming gestures to put the ghost at peace.

"_LIAR!"_

The air shifted; it literally shifted a little to the left, when the ghost of the woman flickered and disappeared.

-:-

"Dean," wide-eyed, still only wearing a towel, "the ghost, it was here…we need to go back."

"Wha…?"

"We need to go back," searching for his pants and shirt in the duffle, "the house, the ghost…it's still there."

"Erm, okay!? How!?

"I don't know, it came into the bathroom, it said I killed her, ah, it, and it keeps calling me William, Dean…she thinks I'm her…you know…"

Sam was talking so fast that Dean had trouble fallowing him but those last words he understood completely: "Awww Sammy got some ghost love."

"What?!" Sam didn't get what Dean was implying, but that was not the point.

"We need to go, Dean…come on." Buttoning up his shirt, Sam was already half way out the door, before Dean got the chance to even rise up from the bed.

-:-

"Oh, nice…just awesome." Dean said, looking up at the house. The house that was burning when they were leaving. The house that was now the same house as it was the first time they saw it. Not burned, but whole. He shifted his weight on his left foot, adjusting his grip on his shot gun.

"Yeah, told you so."

"But how?! I mean why…what? I mean can nothing stay dead anymore?!"

Sam smiled.

"So what's the plan, lover boy?"

Sam huffed: "Okay, so…she followed me, she can obviously leave the house, she's not bound to it…"

"Yeah, so how do we kill her? I mean make her deader!?"

Sam looked at Dean and raised his eyebrows.

"Deader!?"

"You know what I mean."

"Well, she thinks I'm William…maybe…I can I don't know, talk to her. Explain things to her, maybe she'll believe me and move on."

"Sam? Have you been reading fairytales again?!"

"What? No!"

"Sam, she's dangerous. She can kill you…!"

"We can't burn her, Dean…she already burned. I think this is the only way. Dean, come on."

Before Dean could say anything, Sam was already stepping into the house.

Following Sam's footsteps into the house, Dean had an eerie feeling that this will not end good.

-:-

"Annabeth, here ghosty, ghosty." Dean whispered to no one in particular, maybe the chipped walls, or the stairs, but…there was no sound of any kind from anywhere.

"Annabeth, where are you bitch!?"

Sam rolled his eyes, following Dean deeper into the house.

"_You burned me!"_

Sam could hear her voice loud and clear in his mind, wind whispering into his ear, the smell of burning flesh entering his nose.

"Dean, I think…"

Before he could finish the sentence a wave of cold wind circled him and made him loose his footing. The floor became hollow, the walls became fire red, the shadows that were dancing in the house, became flickering flames.

"Dean!!!" it came out as a whisper, the smoke in his throat slowly making its way down to his lungs.

"_You made me burn!" _

The voice was scorching hot in his ears, on his skin.

"Dean!!" it was still a whisper lost in the flickering flames. He could taste soot on his tongue, he licked it off of his teeth, he could see something blue dance in the middle of the flames; a blue dress, dark hair.

"Annabeth!!" he tried, he really tried to scream the name, but it all came out in a hoarse whisper, with his throat screaming at him to just stop talking.

But if anyone is stubborn, then Sam surely is.

"Annabeth, listen to me."

The more he talked, the faster his lungs filled with smoke, the faster his skin succumbed to the unforgiving heat that was licking it.

"Aaaaaa!!!" Sam screamed and fell on his knees, his hands wrapped protectively around his middle: "Annabeth, I'm not William…please. Just look at me."

"_You left me to burn, you killed me!!" _

The ghost screeched.

Sam knew that he had to get to her somehow, he had to make her listen, he had to make her understand that...that he was sorry.

The flames were getting bigger and hotter and the orange mixing with red, as the flames reached the ceiling was intoxicating.

"Annabeth, 'm sorry. I'm sorry. I," he choked and coughed, "I didn't know. I didn't know, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I," he felt tears running down his cheeks, they were tickling him, "loved you."

He felt boney fingers underneath his chin, pressure there that made him raise his head slowly. Her eyes, hollow, black, fire in her hair, her mouth, red, tears…

"You," she inched her face closer to him, "loved me?!"

Sam closed his eyes, his throat constricting, his lungs full of smoke, his skin burning: "I still do." _Jess._

She ran her thumb over his cheek, gathered some tears along the way: "I love you too."

Darkness and a hint of touch.

-:-

"Sammy…"

"Sam!"

"Sam!!"

"Sam!!!"

"Sam wake up."

"Sam I swear to God if you don't wake up…"

"D'n."

"That's it, come on. Open your eyes and let me be pissed at you, when you're awake."

"De'n…"

"Yeah, 'm here. Now open your eyes so I can yell at you."

"Dean…'m sorry."

"Sam!?"

-:-

It was so soft…whatever was underneath him was so soft. So warm.

"Sam, I know you're awake. Just open your eyes."

Dean sounded pissed.

"Wha…?"

Sam opened his eyes, barely registering the motel room or Dean for that matter.

"Whe…?"

"Well, 'm glad you're awake. Now…what the Hell is wrong with you?!

"Huh?!"

Sam blinked. He had no idea what Dean was talking about.

"Sam I told you already, and I swear I will have it tattooed on your ass…Jess's death was not your fault. It will never be your fault and I already told you that if you want to blame someone then blame me."

Sam blinked. His mind was scattered all over his head, thoughts mixing together into nothing but a blur, his skin was tight, his tongue heavy and the taste in his mouth was like he was licking a furnace.

"Sam, you have to stop blaming yourself."

"What?"

Dean sighed. Okay maybe attacking the kid after just waking up wasn't the brightest idea, but what the hell…he had to do something.

"Sam, I heard you talking to Annabeth, the fiery ghost and…man, you need to stop this guilt trip that you're on."

"Dean…"

The fog lifted from Sam's mind, but his skin was still too tight around his bones.

"Dean, I…"

"Look, man…I know…it hurts but…trust me…it's not your fault."

Sam shifted on the bed, uncomfortable and embarrassed under Dean's look and words and he wanted to hide into the deepest, darkest corner and never come out again.

"Dean…" he looked up into his brother's eyes, seeing the '_Sam it's gonna be okay, trust me, just let it go_' Dean's eyes were shining out and he gripped the blanket and nodded. Dean nodded back.

Clearing his throat, Sam had to know: "Annabeth? What happened?!"

Dean stood up from his bed, and walked towards the table in the middle of the room.

"Well, man, one second you were screaming that you were burning up and the next you were muttering how you're sorry and that you love her and then she…she vanished. I think she's gone now."

"Okay." It was a sigh of a word.

"Yeah."

A comfortable silence fell on the room, Dean typing on the computer, Sam looking out the window.

"Sam, just try to get some sleep."

"Yeah, yeah okay."

He turned into the direction of his brother and tuned out the world. Tuned out everything but the soft tapping of his brother's fingers on the keyboard.

FIN.


	10. The Black Forest

**The Black Forest.**

**Scene Writer: Blue Peanut M and M.**

**Responder: darksupernatural.**

**A/N: Peanut came up with the challenge scene for this one. One so awesome that I ran with it. She only had one request, something special about the baddie. So here's my contribution to round two of what has shaped up to be an awesome chance for me to work with a wonderful group of writers and friends. Thanks to all the readers for the great response to this. Please keep reviewing for us. We love to know what you think!**

"What the hell?!" Sam cried as they stopped dead in their tracks, twin trails of breath fogging the early morning air around two astonished looking faces. Before them on the trail stood a small form, gray-green skin nearly blending into it's surroundings. It snarled at them, exposing jagged yellow teeth. Moving quickly, it lashed out, discolored nails lengthening into thick vines as they grew rapidly and shot into the ground. The forest floor rippled as if an earthquake was following the path of the roots underground. Sam side stepped the bulge that shot at him, fighting to keep his feet as the shockwave rocked him. Dean fell hard, with a pained grunt, as the burrowing roots took his boots out from under him. He stilled, his head at a slight odd angle as blood decorated the rock he rested against that was now exposed, its previous leaf cover sliding away. The burrowing roots stopped, the ground leveling out as they disappeared.

"Dean!" Sam cried, taking in his brother's prone form as he pulled his gun and turned to the creature. It moved quickly and disappeared, its body color changing to match the forest floor. Sam lost sight of it. He turned to his brother and knelt, ghosting Dean for injuries and seeing the blood on his head and the rock beneath it. Sam felt pain blossom as a large branch came down against the side of his head. He fell forward, landing beside Dean on another small tree branch. Blood welled from his shoulder and his head, being sucked into the ground as the desert soaks up the all too rare rains.

***

The smell of musty earth traumatized his nostrils as consciousness returned. The dirty, gritty, damp soil and vegetation, dotted here and there with the last vestiges of icy thaw, pressed against his cheek, the chill seeping through his pores, draining away at the last of his body's warmth. Moving his arms underneath his body he attempted to rise, stilling briefly as his stomach sloshed and rolled, his head not helping as it drummed to a staccato rhythm. His fingers dug into the softening, saturated terrain; muddy, coarse granules grinding beneath the nail beds, as he pushed his way into a seated position and leaned heavily against the rigid bark of a colossus Douglas fir. He groaned.

His breath misted before his face as he breathed heavily through his mouth. Bringing a hand up he pawed at the blood that slowly leaked and trickled down his cheek, before touching the tear that rent across his brow, not thinking of the consequences his filthy hand's contact would create, wincing as he pressed too hard on the duck egg-_Nope, not a goose egg. Not yet anyway-_ that was gradually growing beneath the gash. He listened intently for any sign of movement, any signal that the beast that had struck mercilessly, and without warning, was still lurking; but all he could hear was the occasional twitter of a bird, and the whisper of branches brushing together in the slight morning breeze.

Panic seized him as he realized he was alone. Scanning around he searched for clues as to the whereabouts of his brother, knowing instinctively that something must be wrong if he wasn't there with him, but he could see nothing. Opening his mouth, he yelled. "SAMMY?!" Dean cringed as the rough sound of his own voice made his brain rebel.

***

He sagged against the tree, swallowing hard to keep the rising bile at bay. "Oh yeah, this is just freakin' awesome. First Bobby, then Sammy, and now a freakin' concussion. Awesome." He reached a hand above his head and grasped a craggy knot in the rough bark of the tree, pulling himself upright with a groan. He stilled and spit bile into the leaves at his feet before he staggered just slightly away from the tree, trying to get his bearings. He waited until his eyes cleared further and focused on the leaf littered forest floor, trying to find what now had his brother.

It watched the hunter stagger away from its territory, lichen covered skin and vines for hair making it blend seamlessly with the tree it rested against, an ancient oak. Its home. Not far away from the hunter that it would soon kill. It spoke as Dean called out for his brother again, it's words easily drowned out by the hunter's cry as it cursed the one who desecrated it's home. "Ego mos iugulo qui pervasor meus domus quod meus domus mos nutritor ex suum cruo." Its eyes slid to where the leather jacket clad hunter disappeared into the brush. It pulled away from the tree and jumped silently to the leaves below, its small body adopting the camouflage of the ground. It disappeared and took off at a sprint, leaves rustling in its wake as if from a spring morning breeze.

***

Bobby stirred on the floor of the cavern, coming to as he felt the moisture seeping through the back of his vest and into his jeans. His eyes opened and he looked around, squinting into the darkness. "Aw hell." Bobby groaned, his head falling back against the moldy smelling, rotting leaves that he rested in. He moved his hands, then his legs, feeling the vines wrapped taught around his limbs. He heard something in the confines of the cavern, a whispering of breath nearby. He stilled and held his own, listening for the movement of the creature-or whatever-was lurking in the darkness. He heard nothing besides the whisper of breath again. Feeling threatened, he began the banishing incantation. _Better safe than sorry. _"Ego dico en exaresco solitudo estus, puteus sursum quod expello vita ex nemus. Ego dico in uda quietus profundus puteus sursum quod absentes, denego. Ego dico in phasmatis of silva, iacio quod intereo esculentus ut ventus."

Bobby jumped as he felt the vines around his wrists tighten spasmodically before releasing him, rough bark sloughing off the now dry surface. "Well, hot damn!" He hastily pulled free of the withered vines and sat up, wincing at the pain in the back of his head. He felt the bump beneath the back of his hat and dropped his hand back to his lap after feeling the leaves that clung to the sticky, half dry blood that had saturated his hair. He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out the tiny pen light he managed to hang on to. Bobby twisted the lens of the small light to turn it on, shining it the two foot span that it covered before becoming too diffuse. He startled when the light bounced off the shadows surrounding a limp form nearby. Bobby eased onto his protesting knees, keeping his head low beneath the roots of the ancient tree that formed the roof of the cavern. He crawled to the side of the form he now recognized.

"Sam?" Bobby leaned down, quickly flicking out a hunting knife and slicing through the bindings holding Sam prisoner and turned Sam over gently in his arms. Sam's head lolled back over the arm Bobby held under his shoulders. Sam's face was caked with dirt and blood from a small gash just above his ear. "C'mon, kid. Wake up." Bobby brushed dirt from Sam's jacket and stopped dead when his hand came away sticky, fingers brushing off something lodged high in Sam's shoulder.

"Aw, damn." Bobby tapped Sam's cheek gently, finally eliciting a groan from the youngest Winchester.

"Hey ya kid."

"B-Bobby?" Sam whispered, his head lifting briefly before it fell back against its resting place on Bobby's forearm. "Found ya…"

"Yeah kid. Ya found me." Bobby chuckled, his smile quickly fading as Sam's eyes slipped closed. "Hey Sam…Sam, stay awake."

"Bobby?"

"Yeah, kid. Take it easy. You're bleedin'. Need to see what's stickin' outta yer shoulder."

"We-" Sam swallowed hard. "We were, uh, lookin'ferya…" Sam slurred. "Somethin'…in the woods. Ambush…I think?" Sam said, his brow wrinkling in confusion. His eyes drifted closed again. Bobby, racking his brain for a way to keep Sam awake, quickly but gently poked Sam's shoulder about an inch below the protrusion.

"GAAHhh!" Sam cried, his eyes flying open. "Sonuvabitch Bobby!"

"Sorry kid. You need ta stay the hell awake! Gotta figger out how bad your shoulder is, boy."

***

Dean gradually got his bearings, his eyesight sharpening as the pain in his head receded to a dull throb. He reached a dirty finger up towards his head, his eyes finally focusing on the clay and bits of forest rot that was embedded under his short nails and yanked his hand back down, mentally berating himself for touching an open wound with filthy hands. "That's all Sammy needs, damnit, a big freakin' brother too out of his damn head with fever to find the kid. Dean, you're one dumb sonuva…" Dean stopped the murmured tongue lashing when he felt the breeze rise slightly around and behind him. He froze, a hand sliding inside his jacket for his gun. _Not that it'll do much good against some bat shit crazy forest sprite._ Dean pulled the gun and turned, seeing it. A four foot tall green and gray skinned creature that appeared to be covered in moss and lichen, with warts resembling small pebbles. It had long hair, ivy leaves sprouting from what resembled wooden dreadlocks. "Sonuvabitch." Dean murmured again, seeing the creature's two inch long talons and teeth to match. "You are one ugly piece of…" The creature began to pace around Dean in a tightening circle. As it did, it gained speed, it's skin gradually camouflaging itself to resemble a fallen, yet moving pile of leaves. It stilled completely as the rising wind made Dean blink to shield his eyes from debris. Dean lost sight of the sprite.

"Damnit." He snarled, raising the pistol and looking over his surroundings closely, trying to see the sprite amongst the forest litter. "Great. I walked in a friggin circle too. Nice. Note to self; tell freakin' Sam, no more camping! Especially while concussed."

"_Corruo."_ Dean heard the thing's voice, like wind through a hollow log as it spoke. Dean's mind worked to decipher the language. Then it clicked.

"Destroyer?" Dean shook his head in disbelief. "Freakin' Latin? The sprite speaks Latin?"

"Not all, Hunter." The reedy voice spoke again from the forest, from an indiscernible direction. Dean flinched and spun a circle as the sounds appeared to come from behind him. "Not a Sprite, Corruo." It appeared in front of Dean then, materializing out of it's camouflage. "Elemental!" it growled, flinging taloned hands at him, the brown, grainy nails quickly elongating into vines with thorns that shot out of it's hands, slithering quickly along the ground to wrap around Dean's legs before he could move to stop them. They tightened painfully, spines ripping through denim and pulling harshly against boot leather, before wrapping Dean's ankles together in a tight embrace and jerking his feet out from under him. Dean fell with a pained grunt, the vines quickly working their way up his legs to his hips, thorns tearing into his flesh painfully. The creature laughed maniacally, the sound coming to Dean from all directions, carried on the spring breeze. The vines changed, becoming thicker, and gaining more thorns as they traveled further up his body, pinning his arms to his sides, one wrestling the pistol from the grip he'd managed to keep on it. The vine wrapped the gun up in a cocoon of wood and leaves, curling around the cold chromed steel as a python would curl around its prey. The Elemental hissed, its voice carried on the wind, accented by the snapping of branches and the rustle of leaves that had just begun to appear under the warming spring sun. It disappeared in a swirl of leaves as the vines settled into a suffocating blanket over Dean's head.

***

"Gah! Shit!" Sam cried as Bobby worked the half inch diameter twig out of his flesh. Sam's eyes screwed shut as Bobby clamped down on the wound, a semi clean handkerchief between the flowing blood and his dirty hand.

"Sorry kid. Had to come out."

"Yeah." Sam panted. "I know." He caught his breath, leaning his head back against the cool dirt wall of the cavern. He opened his eyes and looked around. "Where the hell are we?"

"Near as I can guess, a forest Elemental's lair. I was huntin' the bastard. Woke up here."

"We got a call from someone who found your cell in the woods. Came to check it out. We were worried." Sam said quietly. "How the hell are we gonna get outta here?" Sam asked, eyeing the thick tangle of roots that formed a sort of cell around them, coming from over their heads to penetrate the ground beneath them. One wall of the cavern, the one Sam leaned against was solid, hard packed earth.

"C'mon Sam, let's getcha on yer feet." Bobby said, hauling Sam upright. Sam fought the pain and dizziness to catch his breath. He groaned and leaned heavily on Bobby while the older hunter held a hand to his heaving chest. Sam's nostrils flared briefly and he nodded, signaling Bobby that he was okay.

"Bobby, we gotta get the hell outta here and find Dean. Somethin' bad could be happening to m'brother." Sam said, his voice breaking as a worried scowl settled over his features.

"I have an idea, kid. It worked for the vines." Bobby again recited the banishing rite. The roots of the tree shuddered but didn't die.

"What the hell?"

"The elemental controls his realm. It's a place of magic. We're in the bastard's lair, right? The most magical place in the whole damn forest." Bobby said the rite once more, and again the roots shuddered but did nothing. "Sonuvabitch."

"What Bobby?"

"Either it's magically shielded like the elemental itself or…" Bobby cringed and trailed off as a chilly spring breeze blew through the cavern.

"He's here!" Sam finished, shouting as the wind in the cavern rose, drowning out his voice and raising the debris from the ground. The elemental appeared, walking through the curtain of roots like a wraith, his body taking on the deeper color of his surroundings like a chameleon. It lunged, sweeping Sam's feet out from under him. Sam landed hard, the breath knocked from his body as his shoulder flared with white hot pain. Bobby stepped in to help Sam, only to be stopped by vines surging up from the ground to wrap tightly around his legs like a horde of snakes. One of the vines crept up his leg and released the hunting knife from his sheath, unseen and unfelt as Bobby struggled to pull free. Ignoring the elemental's screech he freed himself and dove for Sam.

"SAM!" Bobby shouted as roots and briars sprung up from the ground to quickly envelop Sam in a smothering shroud of greenery and thorns. Bobby rushed to the heap of tangled weeds that encompassed Sam. He fell to his knees, hands scrabbling into the vines, pulling, ignoring the bite of thorns piercing his flesh, embedding deep. "No kid! Hang on Sam, hang on!"

The elemental hissed, laughing as it disappeared once more into its surroundings. Bobby cast a glance back over his shoulder as part of him braced for another ambush. When none came, he concentrated once more on freeing the youngest of the boys he considered sons from his prison beneath tightly woven greenery. Blood seeped from multiple scratches and puncture wounds on Bobby's hands, large scratches weeping the crimson liquid. Drops of blood fell on the leaves of the vines to be greedily sucked deeply into the stems. Bobby cursed as he watched the thorns grow on the vines, watched the vines themselves thicken and become stronger. Bobby reached for his knife only to find it gone.

"Sonuvabitch!" Bobby cursed once more, fighting to free Sam now with just his beaten, bloody hands. He pulled at the vines, tearing through them. A reedy cry rang out throughout the cavern as Bobby did damage to the elemental through his lair. Sam's face peeked through a gap in the vines, his closed eyes, lax, slightly open mouth and pale face scaring Bobby. The older hunter gathered his energy and continued to break the vines.

He tore the last of the vines from Sam's chest and legs, clearing the greenery away so that it lay in tattered heaps all round himself and Sam. Sam's shoulder was bleeding again, his face ghostly white. Bobby lifted his head and positioned it in his lap, checking for and finding a pulse. Sam's eyes moved rapidly behind their closed lids and he moaned slightly. "Come on Sammy, wake up." Bobby said softly, using the familiar nickname in hopes of reaching Sam. Sam's eyes snapped open and he pulled in a ragged breath, droplets of blood running down his face from several small scratches, a broken off thorn protruded from the side of his neck which Bobby gingerly pulled, garnering a wince from Sam.

"Ya alright kid?"

"Peachy." Sam groaned, sitting up and holding a hand across his tight feeling chest. He could still feel the sensation of being suffocated and didn't like the vivid feeling. "Where the hell'd that thing go?"

"No clue. We gotta get outta here Sam."

"Yeah." Sam allowed Bobby to pull him to his feet, stifling a groan of pain as his shoulder protested loudly and his chest tightened. "God."

"What Sam?"

"Can't….I can't breathe…Bobby." Bobby stepped up and gripped Sam's arms as his knees buckled, one of Sam's scratched hands shooting to his temple to squeeze hard, fingers twisting in his hair. Bobby curled protectively around Sam as his breathing became labored and his eyes lost focus, his last sight being the concerned face of the older hunter before his vision went white.

_Sam felt last year's leaves under his feet, the moisture of spring thaw muffling the crackle of brown oak leaves. He felt the breeze on his face and an odd tightness in his chest. Walking forward, his worried gaze searching the area around him, Sam came to an ancient looking oak tree, it's gnarled, rough barked branches reaching for the sky as new leaf buds began peaking out at the warming spring sunshine. The forest floor teemed with greenery, seeming out of place for the beginning of April, even in Ohio. Sam studied the forest floor a little more closely, seeing the vines clustered at the base of the old tree in a heap, as if covering a mound of earth._

_He walked closer to the mound of ivy, hesitant. It was moving, coiling slowly in around itself. Sam felt his chest tighten, breath coming in short, painful bursts. He looked at the pile of greenery that seemed just too green for so early in the spring. Sam shifted his stance slightly, spring sun shining over his shoulder and onto the plants. The rays caught on something shiny and bounced back at him from something mostly concealed beneath dark green leaves. It reflected a bright silver light at his eyes painfully. He looked closer._

"_Oh, no. No, no, no!" Sam dropped to his knees, pulling on the smaller vines, snapping the flexible twigs. A small silver object came into view, wrapped around an unmoving finger._

"_DEAN!"_

_***_

"SAM! Come on kid, snap the hell outta it!" Bobby cried as he held Sam, listening as Sam's breathing became hitched and ragged. Bobby shook him, rewarded when Sam flinched and gasped as his eyes cleared.

"Oh god, Bobby we've got to get to Dean. NOW!"

"Kid, what didja see?"

"No time. Dean needs us Bobby."

"Sam, we…"

"Bobby!" Sam cried, standing and glaring down at the older hunter. Sam's head lowered. "Bobby, he's suffocating. The elemental has him…"

Bobby nodded and stood, "Okay kid, we'll get to him."

"We need to get the hell outta here."

Bobby nodded and focused on the tangle of roots that completely obscured the opening to the cavern. He spoke the incantation, his voice strong as he bade nature to starve the tree and open a way. _That damn kid better be alright. Just be alright Dean. Sam an' I, we need ya._

Sam stepped up to the roots, his strong voice joining Bobby's and adding power to the rite. His words were flawlessly spoken, in perfect sync with Bobby's. "Ego dico in uda quietus profundus puteus sursum quod absentes. Denago. Ego dico in phasmatis of silva, iacio quod intereo esculentus ut ventus!" Bobby and Sam covered their eyes and mouths as the roots of the tree shuddered, dirt and stone raining down on them from the room of the cavern. The curtain of roots parted with a groan and Sam darted through the opening and into the harsh afternoon light. Sam blinked harshly at the spike of pain in his head and the tightening of his chest.

"No!" Sam said, his hand drifting to his chest as the awful-too familiar- pain assaulted him. He knew he was feeling Dean's pain, Dean's lack of breath. He took off running. Sam stilled after about fifty yards. He breathed, noticing that the pain had lessoned. "Dean." Sam knew, with a sinking feeling that he had moved further away from his brother. Sam turned when he heard Bobby's footsteps thundering behind him.

"Sam?"

"He's not here, Bobby. He's fadin', and I can't find him!"

"Sam!" Bobby said, gripping his biceps and turning the youngest Winchester roughly to face him. "Tell me what you saw. We. Gotta. Work. Together."

"I saw Dean. He-he was pinned down by the vines, like I was. They closed over his head, it was so dark, too hard to breathe. I felt it Bobby, he was suffocating. He could be right now. That thing had him!"

"Sam?" Bobby shook him. "Sam! What didja see around Dean?"

"There was a ton of greenery, like way too green for this time of year." Sam trailed off, thinking back to his vision. "There was a massive tree, huge, looked…Oh hell!" Sam side stepped Bobby and took off in the direction of the huge oak tree, the Elemental's lair, the place where he and Bobby were held captive.

"Damnit Sam!" Bobby cried, taking off after the long legged Winchester. Sam soon found himself standing at the base of the tree from his vision. Around it clustered vibrant green ivy, briars and tangled weeds, way too many for the beginning of April. Sam's eyes scanned the ground for the heap of greenery that he knew without a doubt was killing his brother. Sam's chest tightened once more and he fought to drag a breath in past his parted lips. Bobby skidded to a stop behind him.

"He's here Bobby. I can feel him. It hurts." Sam said, his body nearly doubling over as he fought to breathe. His eyes lit on the mound of vines off in the distance and half concealed by the huge tree. "DEAN!" Sam said, sprinting around to the mound as he slid to his knees beside it, his legs being ripped into by the thorns on the briars. Sam saw the familiar glint of silver peeking out through the leaves. Sam dug into the vines, tearing as quickly as his quickly bloodied fingers would allow, his digits slipping on blood against the smooth leaves and prickly vines. Bobby quickly knelt down and began the arduous task of freeing the oldest Winchester along side his little brother.

"Come on man, please keep breathing. Dean, please." Sam whispered, his own breath rasping through his throat. "Please man." Sam pulled the vines away from Dean's face, exposing flesh that was so pale his freckles appeared like deep chocolate speckles across his nose. His lips were blue tinged, parted and still. Bobby cleared the vines from Dean's torso and Sam picked him up, holding his head elevated. "C'mon Dean." Sam whimpered. Sam ran a hand back through Dean's sweaty hair, feeling the heat even though his skin was clammy. Dean's face was dotted with blood, dozens of small punctures and scratches littering his flesh. Bobby felt tentatively for a pulse. The older hunter smiled, his beard not disguising the joy that crossed his features.

"He's got a pulse Sam. He's alive."

"Thank god." Sam said as he saw Dean's parted lips move, felt his brother's chest expand. Sam released his own held breath when his brother exhaled on a shudder. Dean's green eyes opened to slits and he swallowed hard, tipping his head into his brother's hand. Sam curved his fingers around his brother's angular jaw and lowered his head to nearly rest on Dean's forehead.

"Smmy?" Dean slurred, his voice a rough whisper.

"Yeah, 'M here man."

Bobby felt a slight chilly breeze stir around him and his boys. He lifted his head and looked around; not seeing what his hunter instinct told him was there. "Sam, we gotta move you two."

Sam nodded. "Dean, can ya walk?"

"Th-think so?" Dean said.

"Dude, was that a question?" Sam asked, the corners of his lips tipping up slightly.

"Yeah?" Dean asked again.

"You have a concussion." Sam stated. "Come on, let's get you outta here."

"'K Sammy." Dean said, groaning as Sam hauled him to his feet and looped an arm around his shoulders. Sam caught his breath on a hiss of pain and Dean reacted, pulling away from Sam. "Y'hurt?"

"'S nothin'."

"Not nothin'. Y-your shoulder." Dean pulled away from Sam, staggering a couple steps before he collapsed to his knees.

"Dean!" Dean waved a hand and pulled in a ragged breath, forcing his way to his feet. "I'm okay Sammy." Dean said. "We need to move. Need better weapons. What the hell kills a sprite?"

"It's not a sprite Dean. It's a forest elemental."

"So it wasn't lyin'." Dean said.

"You talked to it?" Sam asked.

"More like it taunted me," Dean said, a bitter look crossing his features, "before it kicked my ass."

"Whatever, or wherever doesn't matter. We need ta git the hell outta here before the little bastard comes back." Bobby said, the wind ruffling his hair beneath his ball cap once more.

"Wait." Dean said.

"What?" Bobby asked.

"We have to kill this sonuvabitch."

"Now hold on just a damn minute, ya boys both've been beat ta hell. Ya ain't in no shape to be takin' on a whole damn forest!"

"Dean's right. Doesn't matter, we have to stop this thing before someone else gets killed."

The wind whipped up then, a spring chill bringing a quickly developing flush to Sam's pale face. "Looks like ya might git yer chance!" Bobby said, doing his best to move between both boys and the Elemental.

The wind swirled leaves around, the surroundings darkening as heavy clouds began to encroach on the edges of the blue spring sky. It carried the kind the kind of rain that early April always did. Cold enough to chill but harboring the promise of warm nights and blooming flowers.

"_Corruo." _A reedy voice reached the ears of the hunters on the stirring wind.

"Destroyer?" Sam asked incredulously. "The thing speaks Latin?" He said as he turned to Dean.

"Yeah. Talks like freakin' Yoda too." Dean turned slightly, something catching his eyes to the left and near the huge tree. "It's here."

The wind kicked up last year's leaves, stirring dirt and rot into the air. The hunters lifted their arms to shield their faces from the stinging twigs and curled oak leaves. Sam felt an impact around the area of his knees as the elemental moved out of its camouflage to tackle him. Pain flared in his shoulder and head as he grunted. Bobby's feet were taken out from under him when the ground split, a small tree shuddering and falling, the four inch thick trunk pinning him to the ground painfully. "BOBBY! SAM!" Dean cried, moving his way. The ground around Sam rippled and Dean fought to keep his feet over the churning forest floor. Vines erupted from the leaf litter, green stemmed with long yellowed thorns to slither quickly along the ground towards him. More broke through to pin Sam to the ground, wrapping painfully around his wrists and ankles as he tried to buck the elemental off of him, finally curling around his shoulders to hold him down. They looped around his neck and tightened, choking him.

"I don't freakin' think so!" Dean said, stepping quickly down on the approaching shoots and pinning it to the ground. The elemental raised his head and snarled, long dingy teeth resembling the thorns on the vines. The vines peaked through the ground again shooting up into the air, and racing towards Dean. They hit him in the chest, the force knocking him backwards as the ground gave a violent lurch under his feet. Dean staggered backwards, his back pushed into the bark of the huge oak tree. He felt the bite of the rough surface through his jacket and gasped in pain as his head connected once more. The vines reached around him and the tree as they held him tightly to the bark, effectively tying him fast to the tree. More sprung up from the ground and tried unsuccessfully to pin Dean's hands to his sides. Dean reached quickly into his jacket pocket and pulled his lighter. The elemental, now standing in front of him, released it's camouflage and attacked him, clawing with wooden talons. The lighter flew from his hand and blood welled from slashes on Dean's chest and he cried out as the vines slithered across him, soaking themselves in his blood and pulling it in like the nourishing rains. Thorns bit into the wounds.

Bobby pushed himself up, forcing his way from beneath the small fallen tree, feeling the pain of a gash across the back of his neck. He had seen Dean's silver Zippo sail past him and had watched it land, his eyes glued to the spot. He heard Dean's cries of pain and rushed for the lighter, flicking the lid open. He grabbed a dry branch that held some brown, curling oak leaves and flicked the lighter. The leaves caught and the crackle of fire could be heard. "Dean, cover yer eyes!" Bobby snarled as Dean lifted his jacket one handed and shoved hard at the elemental with the other. The distance between Dean and the elemental grew as Bobby smacked it with the flaming branch. It snarled, crying out in agony as it's wooden skin began to blacken, it's vine like hair caught fire and it shrieked. Shying away from Dean, the elemental fell to the leaf strewn ground, sparks catching the leaves around it as it's hair broke like a log that burned through and fell in a fireplace. The fire grew around it, consuming it as it screamed. Dean felt the tree he was against shudder, the vines shaking as they began to recede, disappearing back into the ground. He pushed himself away from the tree as he saw the elemental rolling on the ground in a circle of flames, trying to put out the fire as it began to fade into it's surroundings.

"Oh, no. No way in freakin' hell!" Dean picked up a fallen branch, his arms straining under the weight. He dropped the branch on top of the elemental, pinning him to the ground. The flames began to lick at the dry wood and soon a conflagration had built.

"Sam!" Dean turned to his brother who still lay on the ground. Sinking to his knees he saw Sam's pale face. Blood welled from deep scratches on his now unrestrained wrists and neck. His shirt around his shoulders was in tatters and blood peaked at Dean from the gouge marks in the skin beneath. Sam was still, silent. His face pale. "Sammy!" Dean said again, reaching for Sam. He quickly picked up one of Sam's wrists and could see blood pumping from the scratch on the underside. "Damnit!" Dean growled, his words drowned out by the gradually lowering cries of the burning elemental, quickly pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to wrap around Sam's wrist. "Bobby I need something else. He's bleedin'. Sammy come on. Wake up dude." Dean implored, tapping Sam's arm lightly between scratches after wrapping an offered handkerchief around his other wrist. Sam's eyes moved beneath their lids and finally opened. He pulled in a choked breath as Dean helped him sit up.

"Ya okay?"

Sam pulled in another breath and nodded, shifting his eyes to the rapidly growing fire. "Uh, guys?"

Bobby quickly scuffed the dry leaves away from the circle of flame, exposing bare, winter sodden ground. The fire was soon contained and the howls of pain diminished to gurgles and then finally silence as the wood turned to ash, taking the elemental with it.

Dean looked at Sam. "Dude, we are never camping again!"

Sam smiled tiredly. "This wasn't camping, Dean."

"Don't care." Dean looked at Bobby, a grin, albeit an exhausted one, crossed his features. "Dude, next time you get jacked by a gremlin that's been drinkin' Miracle Gro, you're on your own."

"Sure I am." Bobby said. "You two alright to make the walk back to the car?"

"Yeah. We'll be at the first motel we come to."

"It's the Black Forest Inn. I got a room there for the hunt." Bobby said, cracking a smile. "Hey Dean, the rooms?"

"What about 'em?"

"Wallpapered to look like a forest."

"Oh Hell NO!"

"Good, there's a Super 8 just outside o' town. I'll meet you boys there."

***

Sam opened the door at Bobby's knock, his bandaged wrists glaring white under the light from the entry way table. "Sam, ya boys alright?" Bobby asked as he walked inside the room to see Dean asleep on the bed nearest the door, his bare legs poking out from under a tangled sheet and covered in scabbed over scratches. Sam was wearing a tee shirt, his wrapped wrists and a few punctures and scratches visible along his arms. A square of gauze decorated his neck from beneath his collar to tuck just up under the ends of his long hair. A scab and bruise framed his face just above his ear near his temple and he favored his right shoulder, holding his arm close to his body.

"Yeah. We're alright."

"So. That was a vision huh?" Bobby asked quietly. Sam looked up from the floor, terrified. He nodded towards the front door of the room and Bobby followed him out. Standing on the sidewalk that fronted the room, Bobby watched as Sam shifted uneasily.

"Dean doesn't know I had another one about him." Sam said quietly.

"Another one?"

"Yeah. There was one last year. I've seen him die twice now. In my head. I felt it too."

"They scare ya don't they, boy?"

"They freakin' terrify me Bobby. I can't stop 'em can't control 'em…"

"All you can do is beat whatever it is to the punch."

"I'm so afraid I'll be too late…" Sam said, blinking back tears from his blue green eyes.

"If there's one thing I _know_ about you kid, it's that no matter what, you will protect Dean. You'll protect him with everything ya have. That's who ya are Sam. Just like Dean does for you. Just remember, you ever need help… I'm around." Bobby said as he put a hand gently on Sam's good shoulder, squeezing in reassurance. "Just gotta talk to me."

"Thanks Bobby."

"See you boys around. Why doncha drop by the Salvage yard in a couple weeks?"

"We'll do that. See ya soon." Sam said as Bobby dropped his hand and walked towards his old blue truck. Sam waved as the rumbling engine fired up and Bobby pulled out. Sam turned and walked back into the motel room, smiling as he saw Dean sprawled out across the bed in a tangle of limbs and rumpled sheets.

**end notes: The latin came from a translator on the internet, so it probably makes no sense to anyone out there that can actually read and speak it. That's the beauty of fiction. Look for more stories and more rounds from all the team behind Winchester Single Shots. Please Review!**


	11. Aces and Eights

Title: Aces and Eights

Summary: _Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken --- Ecclesiastes 4 : 12_

Takes place right after 'On the Head of a Pin' AU hurt/comfort, angst

A/N I've been welcomed by this wonderful group of writers and hope to do the challenges justice because I admire them very much. Season four is so dark and I'm enjoying it but I have to admit that I'm hoping for at least a small glimpse of the brotherly affection. I'd settle for a 'jerk' 'bitch' moment at this point. Anything.

XXXX

Dean's voice was still raspy from the ventilator, not that he used his voice much these days anyway. Sam couldn't tell what was worse, the silence as they drove along, or the yelling that ensued when Dean learned he killed Alistair. But this silence was different; it felt as if it came without blame to anyone but Dean. The normal silence, as Sam called it in the past, was accompanied by loud music and became such a staple in lieu of conversation that it had been almost peaceful. Metallica always signaled a separate peace, an uneasy knowledge that somehow things would be okay again.

Sam wished the silence was accompanied by those exasperated sighs and concerned glares that would have been oxymoronic with anyone else but they never were with Dean. Somehow Dean was always able to say _you screwed up _and _but we can fix it _with one look. Maybe it was his turn to say those things to Dean. But the weight of the truth Dean put on him was as heavy as when Dean told him that if he couldn't save him, he'd have to kill him.

Dean pulled over. He knew he shouldn't have insisted on driving. He'd only been out of the hospital for two days, and AMA at that. The damp air went to his bones and settled in his body the minute he left the stifling cocoon of warm hospital air. It wasn't raining but the wipers beat the fog from the windshield. The odd light at the end of a farm driveway was the only thing separating the endless darkness on the country road.

"Can you drive for a bit, Sam? I'm tired."

Sam's heart dropped into his stomach. Yes, he'd changed while Dean was gone, become stronger, harder, fortified with the same poison that started this whole mess when he was a baby, but it broke him to hear those words. The last time Dean said he was tired; it was when he gave up, ready to die and go to hell.

Sam got out while Dean shifted over, the popping of his joints audible and aged. Dean watched Sam as he paused on the driver's side of the car. His baby brother was huge, probably finished growing unless he kept eating his Ruby-ohs. Dean studied Sam's face, trying to see the monster inside that the angels kept telling him would appear one day when Sam took things too far. But it wasn't there, not yet. _Not ever. _

It was clear that this was a good time to stop. Sam didn't get in the car immediately. He raked his hands through his hair. He looked up to the sky, and that's when Dean saw it. Sam still prayed. And damn was he mad. To think his little brother had a warrant out for his head if he crossed a line that was invisible to both of them so far.

Dean already said his piece two days ago about what he called Sam's Ruby booster shot vaccination, but he only said it once. Sam wished he'd have gone on yelling until he remembered the defeated slump in Dean's shoulders as he turned over and went back to sleep, his face planted so firmly into the hospital pillows that he thought Dean would suffocate. As Sam leaned against the car, he wanted to ask Dean about the unnatural sleep he fell into in the hard plastic chair back at the hospital when Castiel arrived, knowing without a doubt that once again, an angel shunned him and spoke to his brother.

Sam got back in the car, the familiar squeak of the doors he always complained of welcome; the only familiarity they had now.

Sam looked like he had something to say. Dean was amazed that Sam could come back with an answer he would take on faith, with no way of knowing if he'd been answered or not. I mean, Castiel outright told Dean that only a few angels had ever seen God, yet here was Sam, getting into the car with a little more peace than he left it with. And the blind faith in his brother's eyes nearly killed him.

They sat for a few more moments in the Impala that had been their nursery, their home, their hospital, and their place of peace both wanting to confess every one of their fears but afraid of shattering the other further.

Dean could absolve Sam of his actions now. How could he not? Not only had he tortured souls to free himself of the same fate, he broke the first seal, he helped lower the fire escape to Lucifer a little more. Neither of them knew how to make the other believe that none of this was their fault; they were both so eager to accept the blame. So thoughts as loud as speech floated between them unread when once, not so long ago, a gesture or a glance in the each other's direction would tell the whole story without words.

_I broke the first seal, Sam. With demons_.

_I used my powers when I was specifically told not to. By angels. _

_To save you._ Both of them thought together but the silence won.

The only thing they actually discussed was the plan to go on fighting all the evil sons-of- bitches they came across while tracking Lilith. They both knew damn well that Bobby was literally and figuratively tossing them a bone when he practically insisted they take a good old-fashioned zombie hunt together, spend some time planning, driving, and thinking. It was turning out as well as handing them a Coke after their bout with the siren took away what each of them feared was the last bit of what they'd fought so hard to build during the last few years. They had each gotten drunk that night, separately. And they'd been alone together ever since.

XXXX

Bobby had done all of the research on this case, including where the zombie would most likely be found. True to his word as the brothers pulled up to a spot behind Montgomery Junior High at exactly midnight, a crowd already formed.

Sam and Dean stepped from the car, listening to the taunts and jeers from the crowd.

"Too bad you hadn't stepped up for Jim before I had to take him out, or should I say the Late Jim? I don't know why I even showed up. You're only going to last a minute. What am I going to do to entertain the crowd for the other twenty nine minutes?" The huge jock with the football jersey spitting the hateful drivel continued. "Jim couldn't fight his own battles. Who are you? Lancelot?"

"Oh, but my brother can fight his own battles," came a small voice that was almost lost to the crowd's laughter, until Jim stepped from behind a dumpster against the far wall. "Can't you, Jim?" And this time there was hint of pride in the small voice. It took a full minute for the crowd to register that Jim, a kid they'd buried a week ago, was back. The jock gaped and went pale before shoving through the crowd knocking people down with practiced tackling skills. Those who didn't go down like dominoes ran screaming into the nearby streets.

By the light of a flickering streetlamp in the teachers' parking lot, Dean and Sam got their first full look at Jim and the small voiced guy beside him.

"That's right, run!" yelled the boy, turning to give orders to the former Jim. Only Jim didn't take orders as such. He picked the boy up and began shaking him, anger flashing in the sunken eye wells.

"Jim! Please, it's me, Ken," the boy pleaded, nearly breathless with fear. "Put me down! You're supposed to be teaching them a lesson. Please, let me go!" Fear mixed with sorrow and morphed into realization on the face that was being snapped back and forth fiercely.

"He's not Jim anymore, Ken," Dean said, aiming carefully, a bead of red light from his gun timed rhythmically with the shaking movements of the zombie. He took his shot.

Are _you sure that what you brought back is one hundred percent pure Sammy?_ Dean shook his head as the zombie dropped his prey. Ken fell to the ground holding his ears and moaning. The zombie recovered and ran away.

"Ken," Sam called, stepping forward to help the shaking boy up. "We don't have much time. Where did you perform the ritual to bring your brother back?"

Ken looked about to deny doing any such thing. Dean only had to look at him as an older brother does to a little brother. Ken's shoulders slumped.

"At … at the cemetery two blocks down," Ken admitted. "That guy, Tad who just ran away, the police let him go; said my brother hit his head in a 'normal' school yard incident."

Sam would have had something to say to comfort Ken once upon a time but that Sam was tucked carefully away because he would get in the way of keeping his brother safe and saving the world. Missions first, care later. Sam looked at Dean for a cue as to their next move. He wanted to give Dean a sense that he trusted him, that he didn't really believe Dean was weak; at least not permanently so.

"Go home and lock the doors," Dean commanded, "and don't open them for anyone, not even Jim if he goes that way. Got it?"

And there was the cue Sam was looking for. Something decisive, because God how he needed to hear Dean sound confident about something again. Baby steps.

Sam and Dean set off on foot to the cemetery, scanning yards as they ran.

The low-lying fog gave no warning of the sticky mess on the ground that sent Dean sprawling onto the pavement. It was a soft, squishy, wrong landing. Dean stared down into the lifeless body of the schoolyard bully; the face frozen in horror that he probably deserved. Sam nearly tripped over Dean, cursing as he bent down to help Dean to his feet. Their hands slipped in the blood that covered Dean's palms.

"Yours?" Sam asked of the blood as Dean wiped his hands on his jeans.

"Not mine," Dean assured.

"Good, let's go."

They entered the cemetery through the kissing gate and had no choice but to turn on their flashlights. They each aimed toward the ground, hoping to keep eyes from the neighboring condos off of them.

Movement to the left caught their attention as the zombie dodged behind a small, metal tool shed. The whole shed rattled as rivets popped from metal with a squeal that set their jaws on edge. Dean started to make his way around to the back of the shed to see if there was any way of trapping the zombie inside when the zombie burst through the flimsy metal front door of the shed, having made a man sized hole through the back.

Sam and Dean both fired repeatedly, thuds of bullets hitting soft, rotted meat and pinging back off the swinging shovel making both men cringe. Silencers would do nothing if the reverberation of bullets hitting metal alerted the neighborhood to what they were doing. Before Dean's finger caught up to his line of thinking, he pulled the trigger one more time, hearing the report of the ricochet, followed by the soft thud he knew so well, bullet hitting flesh.

Sam dropped beside him, hissing in pain, using every swear word Dean had taught him when they were kids. The zombie retreated at the sudden ceasefire, picking bullets from his skin like they were nothing more than stingers from a bee.

"Sam, how bad?" Dean rasped, grabbing his brother's shoulders. Dean kept watch for the zombie as Sam lifted his shirt and jacket. Blood trickled from a wound in his left side but there was no entry or exit wound.

"You're lucky, flesh wound," Dean ground out.

"Joy," Sam quipped.

"Can you get up?"

"Yeah," Sam grunted as Dean extended his hand.

"Zombie at ten o'clock," Dean whispered, covering Sam who took a few steps to retrieve his weapon.

Both sets of eyes trained on the woods that separated the new part of the cemetery from the old, but the noise was too quick to get an accurate bead on where the thing might come from. Sam let the barrel of the shotgun lead his eyes. The moonlight struggling to penetrate the dark of the wood didn't do much to aid the beams of the flashlights.

"Where the hell did it go?" Dean hissed through clenched teeth.

First leaves rustled, then twigs broke to their left. As they scanned for the abomination they were too late to attack when the footfalls and heavy groaning came from the right. The zombie leaped in search of prey, Sam raised the wood and steel to defend himself, but the weight and momentum was too much to keep his footing.

His skull met concrete. His blood painted the engraved lettering of someone's well wishes to rest in peace. The pain, pure white in the back of his head. Any thoughts of zombies, or anything supernatural, washed out in the blossom of agony.

His eyelids working at half the speed they normally would, he tried to focus. Blinking once, twice, he saw...a woman.

"Who --" he asked out loud to no one.

Things started to come back, clearer now. A sorrowful stone angel watching over the dead.

_Sure, some of us get angels. A demon answers my prayers and I'm damned by the blessed for fighting their fight. Yet I still pray, to a God even angels don't understand._

Sam shook his head to try and clear it from the pain and his thoughts, but he quickly closed his eyes from the mistake as dizziness threatened to take him.

"You ok?" Dean asked, reloading his pistol.

"I'll live," Sam responded, feeling the warmth of his own blood on the back of his head.

"Think I stubbed my toe kicking him off you."

"Thanks."

Sam didn't get much time to stave off the vertigo as noise sent he and Dean scrambling back into action.

Mist swirled around Sam's ankles as he spun, the sawed off shotgun full of consecrated iron shot raised shoulder high as he tried to track the revenant. Dean stepped up beside him, his Colt Patterson raised and at the ready.

"Damn. That sucker can move."

"Yeah, don'cha wish freakin' zombies watched a few more stupid movies?" They again tried to track the reanimated corpse of the high school junior. The moonless night and the low fog made it more difficult. Sam lowered the shotgun, listening for noises that would accompany the revenants footfalls.

"I can't get a bead on the bastard." Sam said, again raising the gun just as the kid stepped up out of the fog from behind the high tombstone directly off to Sam's right. His fist connected with the gun, ripping it from Sam's grasp as he smacked Sam hard, shoving him backwards. Sam's back hit a large tree and he slid to the ground in a heap, landing awkwardly at the base of the tree in the dew laden grass.

"Sam!" Dean said, firing at the zombie as Sam grunted. The kid staggered but didn't go down. "Sonuvabitch!" Dean continued to fire while advancing on the brown haired boy, who was repelled by the slugs that continually bored their way through his already dead body. He finally was pushed backwards into the grave he'd fought his way out of after being raised. Dean slid down the mound of dirt, pulling a long bowie knife with a blackened iron blade. The zombie fought, punching Dean squarely in the jaw. Dean turned the knife in his hand and used both arms to propel the blade through the zombie's chest and into the floor of his coffin. The kid sighed once and fell still, his clawed hands sliding down Dean's chest to rest against the dirty satin lining of the casket. Dean caught his breath and climbed out of the casket, his eyes falling on his brother, who still sat at the base of the tree.

"Coulda used some help there Sam." When Sam didn't look up at the sound of Dean's voice Dean felt his stomach lurch. "Sammy?" Dean asked, rushing to his brother's side.

He lifted Sam's head, fingers sliding on the blood that had flowed from the corner of his mouth and also from the gash that matted Sam's long hair to the back of his head. Dean grasped Sam's jaw with more force than necessary to keep his fingers from sliding and lifted Sam's head, seeing the whites of his open eyes, his lids fluttering uncontrollably.

"Sammy!" Dean cried, as Sam began to shake in his arms, making choking sounds. Dean held him steady and finally…finally breathed a sigh of relief when Sam's eyes focused on him, bleary blue green finally showing as they righted themselves, one just a little more sluggish than the other.

"De'n?"

"Yeah, Sam, it's me. I gotcha."

"Five-oh, Dean you need to get out of here."

Dean didn't need to look behind him. He saw the flashing blue and red in his brother's eye. The police cruiser approached from the side street, sirens off, strobe lights searching the very same yards Sam and Dean had just searched. Dean sighed at the temporary reprieve that was the police stopping, obviously finding the body he'd tripped over moments before.

"Sam, we have to hide. Now. You have to get up."

Dean's voice was terrifying. Sam tried to obey, he really did. He tried to focus his eyes on his brother. Strong arms reached around his back and he tried not to cry out. He wondered who yelled, giving away their position. Then he blamed himself.

Dean lowered Sam back down. Sam couldn't manage the sitting against the tree any longer and slumped to a lying position. He gasped as the cold dew contrasted with warm blood seeping from his head.

"No, Sam, no, you have to open your eyes. Look at me, man."

Sam's right eye opened slightly, making him look like one of those dolls whose eyes are supposed to close when you lay them down but one eye is always broken, giving that creepy, watchful stare.

The shed was eighty feet away and would provide little in the way of a hiding spot. Dean's heart beat faster as another cruiser pulled up to the one already stopped in the distance. It was only a matter of time before a grid search was under way.

Gurgling noises erupted from Sam's throat when Dean tried to move him again and Sam's mouth opened in a silent scream. Ribs floated in Sam's back as Dean panicked and laid him back down.

"Ca … can't, Dean. Hurts. Everywhere." Sam curled on the ground, a soft sob escaping him as both hands flew to his head.

"It's okay, Sam."

It was a lie. Sam knew it but damn it sounded so good right now. Until his brother's retreating footsteps replaced the comforting words.

Sam shivered. Of all the ways to die in this war, a stupid zombie was going to take him down? But then again, it was better than being smote by an angel, right?

_Yes. This is better. Dean won't have to kill me. Castiel won't have to put up with Dean if he was the angel sent to kill me. I won't turn darkside … well, more darkside than I'm probably already labeled. I'll stop screwing up. Score one for the light side ... wonder if they really do have light sabres ... Dean'd know. Oh no, wait, Dean would have had a red one ... Huh, I'm losing it_! was Sam's last lucid thought.

"Dean, I think I sprained my brain. I'm going now, kay?" Sam said aloud to the fog. What little focus he had in his one open eye was fading as explosions of light erupted into pain worse than any vision had ever brought. His vision narrowed until all he could do to take his mind off the pain and cold was imagine shapes in the fog like he and Dean had done with the clouds when they were little. He wished it was daylight so he could tell Dean what he saw in the clouds, because that was always joyful. All he could now see was strobe lights, mixed with the red flashing lights playing hide and seek in the mist. And Dean had left him.

_He finally left me…_Sam's eye slid shut, his heart willing itself to follow.

XXXX

_Just let him keep breathing. Let him keep breathing._ Dean searched the tool shed frantically for anything that would help him get Sam out of the cemetery. There was nothing but shovels and rope, hanging in varying states of disruption from the zombie's newest renovations to it.

Dean finally grabbed the rope and ran back to where Sam lay. Sam was still, eyes closed, the only thing assuring Dean that he was alive were the small plumes of warm air hitting the fog and making small clouds near Sam's nose.

"I'm sorry, Sammy…" The nickname tore from Dean's throat like sandpaper. He hadn't called his little brother that in months before tonight. He'd been a fool. They both had.

Dean grasped both of Sam's arms and bound them at the wrists tight enough to be convincing for the only plan he could come up with. He winced as the rope bit into his brother's flesh, backing off only enough to ensure blood flow, if that could be ensured at all with as much as Sam was losing. Dean reached into Sam's pocket, taking all but one piece of fake ID.

Sam gagged and choked and Dean almost leapt back in guilt and surprise. His eye flew open but there was no focus. Sam's back arched in agony as his eye rolled back in his head.

"Damn it, no, Sam, you have to hang on. I'm gonna get you out of here. I promise, you just have to wait for me." Dean's fingers slid to the pulse point on Sam's neck. A faint, accelerated pulse beat through to his blood stained fingers but he wasn't breathing.

Dean tilted Sam's head back and pinched the bridge of Sam's nose and breathed for him a few times, stopping to listen, praying that CPR wouldn't be necessary on Sam's broken ribs. After six repetitions, Sam started breathing again, as if he'd simply needed a reminder that he had to do that in order to stay alive. Sam started shivering again. Dean shrugged out of his leather jacket and placed it around Sam.

"Wait for me, Sam," Dean whispered. He climbed high into the tree that had tried to kill his brother and taking out his cell phone, dialled an anonymous tips number that guaranteed no traced calls. Dean flattened himself against a wide bough that would hide him.

In minutes that seemed like an eternity, emergency vehicles screamed into the cemetery, cutting the fog and eerie silence with wailing sirens. Feet hit the wet mud, running to the open grave first.

_Come on!_ Dean screamed silently, willing them with gritted teeth to find his brother, to save him. Flashlight beams scoured the area until they fell across the pale man lying on the ground.

A police officer, gun drawn, nudged Sam with his foot angering Dean to the point of almost leaping from the tree to yell at him.

"The one in the grave is dead," some genius shouted.

_Yuh, think! Now save my brother! _

"We have a live one here!" shouted a young cop. "Barely! Call the paramedics!"

Another cop helped untie Sam, cursing about ritualistic crimes and hoping this wasn't the beginning of a cycle. Sam was covered in a silver blanket up to his waist as the officers started basic first aid until the paramedics could get there.

"Damn, this kid is bad off. I don't think he's gonna make it."

_Don't tell him that!_ Dean screamed inside his head.

The ambulance screeched to a stop, two paramedics jumping out and grabbing gear from the back. From that point, Dean could barely see his brother. Voices floated up at him; someone talking to the hospital, reporting blood pressure and a list of injuries that would befit a corpse better than a living person.

"Kid's bottoming out on us!" shouted a voice. Dean bit the inside of cheek, anything to keep himself from jumping out of the tree to see his brother one last time. If he was caught, even if Sam lived through this nightmare, neither of them would ever see the light of day again.

They shot Sam full of epinephrine and put him on a hundred percent oxygen but nothing was working. Dean watched as the paddles were brought out and he turned his face skyward like he'd seen his brother do only tonight.

"Clear!"

When everyone leapt away from their frantic efforts, Dean got a second's worth of unobstructed view of Sam. Electricity shot through as his body convulsed, dew flying from his hair as his eyes jerked open and closed like a camera shutter. For a second, Sam lay still, both eyes open while someone checked his vitals. Dean held his breath and jumped as his brother's entire body flopped like a fish as they shocked him again.

Sam felt like hot, white lights erupted in his skull, finding any opening from which to escape and creating new ones to seep out of. Shocks clawed at his bare chest sawing at his ribs and burning his oxygen starved lungs.

"He's back!" someone shouted in triumph.

Sam's blood rushed in his ears. _Where did I go if I'm back?_ He felt hands ghosting over his entire body. He tried to smack them away. Where was Dean? Why didn't Dean make them stop, 'cause damn, they were hurting him. _Oh yeah, Dean left_. He couldn't get enough air. He felt his head tilt back again; all of his senses assaulted as his chin was held, his mouth opened and something choked him. He tried to claw the hands away again but there were too many. Tears stung his eyes as something rammed down his throat, through his larynx and he arched in agony and bliss at the same time as oxygen rushed through his chest.

The ambulance sped off and Dean wanted to chase it like a lawyer. He shivered in the tree for hours, watching the crime scene as evidence was taken and the body was removed from the open grave to be re-examined by the coroner and lastly, reporters were hustled away after getting a few good shots for the morning news. He clung to conversations about the 'victim' found at the site. Sam Nichols was alive, but barely. An uncle had been notified and was on his way to the hospital.

Dean's pain medication was forgotten at their hotel room, not that he felt he deserved it anyway. His heart ached worse than any body pain ever could. And he was tired. He thought about the brothers he met tonight, well, one brother, one undead. Love existed in the world, no matter how misguided. Tonight's mess was proof of that.

The fog cleared, giving a stellar view of the constellations as Dean lay in the tree, above the lights that would have obscured them. Bet _Sam knows what each of 'em are called. _He'd give anything to go back to the days when Sam would research and try to tell him every single detail of an upcoming hunt, including the weather forecast on the day of said hunt. Now everything was on a need to know basis as if they'd both finally become the soldiers they trained to be their whole lives. Except for now it felt as if they were on opposite sides.

Dean barely breathed or moved for two more hours. There was no let up to the work that was going on, he could only be thankful that no one bothered to look up. Suspects rarely rained from the sky. _Well there was that one time with the vampire …_Sleep tried to lull him away from his pain but his brain kept him focused on the sudden, deadly stop that would occur if he dared to fall asleep and rolled off the bough.

A loud creaking beside him on the bough made Dean cry out in surprise. He held his breath. No one on the ground seemed to notice.

"Hello, Dean." Castiel sat beside him on the bough, legs dangling, obviously invisible to the humans below.

"Cas," Dean croaked. "Sammy, is he…"

"He's alive. I don't know for how much longer. Before you ask, yes, I did try. No, I don't know what the answer is. Yes, Bobby is at the hospital with the insurance forms for his 'nephew'."

Dean sighed at the teaspoon of relief that Castiel had provided but he could tell there was something more the angel wasn't telling him.

"I need to get out of here to see Sam. Can you get me out of here?"

Castiel looked torn as his eyes went skyward and Dean's heart sank when he saw the same questioning plea cross the angel's features that had crossed Sam's in prayer. For the first time, Dean felt sympathy for Cas. Not that the angel's faith was as blind as Sam's, but still, to be able to hold onto such loyalty in the face of losing so many of his brothers and sisters from his garrison, and to be tempted by Uriel and turn away from the fallen to stay the right course. Castiel was the embodiment of hope; something he and Sam had forgotten long ago under the loads of guilt and quests that had been piled on them.

"Do you know why Lucifer was cast out of the Kingdom?" Castiel asked.

"Not really," Dean replied, caught off guard by the question. "Does it have anything to do with you getting me out of here so I can get to my brother, or you finally telling me what happened to my father after he got out of hell, 'cause I gotta tell you, I'm not really in the mood for any more enlightenment from you, especially where Sammy is concerned."

"He disobeyed. Dean, I can't tell you what happened to your father. Most angels do not know what happens to the humans after death that are not sent to hell to be stripped of their humanity. I have not seen God, but Lucifer has. Lucifer has seen Paradise. As a result he quit believing his place was at our Father's side."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you need to know. The miracles on earth have become the mundane. I can't help you get out of here."

"Damnit, Cas, I need to see my brother."

"A demon is a human soul that loses its humanity. Do you know what your brother is becoming?"

Dean's eyes closed, jaw clenched. He wanted to hit something. Hard. Instead, he replied, "And how exactly would you know what humanity is?"

Silence met his question, followed by a fluttering of wings. He opened his eyes knowing his vision would be clear of anything. Before he could curse, a technician from below announced, "Guys, we got blood and shell casings over here!"

They had found the scene where the zombie ambushed Sam and Dean. Dean glanced down and noticed the CSIs were moving off to tape of and tag for more evidence.

_This is my chance._

As he made his way as silently as he could to the Impala hidden a few blocks away, Dean was unaware he was still being watched.

XXX

"He's right you know," Anna said.

"That I do not know what humanity is, Anna? His brother is on a dangerous path." Castiel replied.

"Humanity is about intentions. Abraham would become a murderer through faith, but the Word never teaches anyone to ignore the call of God."

"But you are one of the Fallen."

"And through it, I learned humanity."

"Uriel never received Revelation. How does one disobey without instruction?"

"Your doubt is growing with the more knowledge you gain."

"Wasn't that Lucifer's gift to humanity?"

"Maybe I don't know the answers to mysteries. But it is up to you to decide what is right or wrong."

XXX

Dean cut through the far side of the wooded area, tripping on broken headstones, paying no heed to his body's protests of pain from his previous injuries and stint on a hard tree limb. He reached the edge of the cemetery and cut around the block to avoid the two police cars and medical examiner's vehicles. Dean stopped in his tracks yards away from the Impala as a police cruiser slowed to peer in the windows. He turned and walked as casually as he could, willing himself to breathe normally. He looked over his shoulder and saw an officer open the door of the cruiser, clearly intending on stepping out.

And one angel watched and one did something to help Dean. Anna held her hand up, still able to joke after getting her grace back. "These aren't the droids you're looking for," she said, waving her hand in the air toward the cruiser, which promptly drove off toward the others.

Anna turned to Cas. "People still thank God for small miracles, Castiel, they don't have to be earth moving to be felt and appreciated."

Dean couldn't believe his luck as he got into the car as fast as he could and sped toward the hospital.

"Crap!" He looked down at himself and did a U-turn to go to the hotel first to clean up. If he showed up at the hospital full of mud and blood, there would be questions. He was back on the road clean and cursing the passing of time in ten minutes.

Bobby saw the change in Dean the minute he stepped through the sliding glass doors of the emergency entrance. The lost look in his eyes was still there, ditto for the defeat but there was also fire, small as a candle but there.

"How is he?"

"It's bad, Dean; Sam's in surgery. He's got a subdural haematoma, a brain bleed. The docs are putting in a shunt to take the pressure off his brain. They think he got here in time to save his life but they aren't sure if there'll be any damage. They're repairing his lung and wiring a few back ribs and setting the front ones."

Bobby never believed in soft-soaping. All he could do was help Dean into a chair before he fell down. If he didn't give Dean the whole truth, Dean would have rifled every nurse's station in the building until he got answers anyway. Despite the way things were between them lately, and how broken Dean appeared Bobby knew Dean would never give up his role as protector.

Bobby pressed a cup of coffee into Dean's ice-cold hands and followed him to the elevators to the OR. They sat opposite each other in a tiny waiting room with a TV hanging in the corner.

After all the silence that separated Dean from Sam in the last months, all Dean could think of now was how he would love nothing better than to hear Sam say anything, even fighting would be good. There was a lot of bridges to cross and the water running under them was at flood level.

Three hours later Bobby went to get Dean some food. Sam's doctor picked that time to come out to speak to family.

"Sam Nichol's family?"

"I'm his brother," Dean said, faltering as he stood. The doctor looked appraisingly at him and suggested sitting back down.

"I'm Dr. Needlemyer." The balding man said, extending his hand. For reasons Dean couldn't explain he expected there to be blood on the man's hands but of course there wasn't. He reached slowly and shook his hand, steeling himself for the news.

"Sam came through surgery better than expected. It wasn't necessary to leave the shunt in his skull since the haematoma clotted relatively quickly. That's not always a good thing as the clot can lead to a stroke but we were able to remove it without causing a further bleed. We took a pre-emptive strike in giving him tissue plasminogen activator, or TPA, which gives him a better chance of recovery if he suffered a stroke prior to being brought in. In your brother's unfortunate case, being a victim of violent crime with no witness to tell us about any seizures or how long he'd been unconscious, it was the most prudent course, but that coupled with the blood thinners necessary to prevent further clotting will mean a longer recovery for his other injuries."

"Can I see him?"

"Sam is being taken to recovery. Once he's settled, I'll have a nurse come for you. You should also know that Sam's jaw was broken and we won't be able to set and wire it until he comes off the ventilator."

So the news was bad but it gave hope, until, "The next forty eight hours will be critical. We'll monitor Sam for further brain bleeds or swelling and he'll be on full life support. We need to give his body a chance to rest and heal and the support will help him remain stable."

"Thank you," Dean said, barely above a whisper.

Bobby arrived with a tray of food and the smell of it made Dean's stomach turn. Coming down from the nerves of sitting vigil in the tree and the fact that he was supposed to still be in the hospital himself coupled with hearing of Sam's grievous injuries was too much. Dean stumbled into the men's room to be sick.

Bobby knocked on the cubicle door.

"Dean, you okay, kid, come out here so we can get the doc to have a look at you," Bobby coaxed.

"Had enough hospitals to last a lifetime, Bobby. I just need to see Sam. I'm fine."

The walls were going back up.

Nevertheless Bobby waited for Dean by the sinks, handing him a wad of paper towers soaked with cold water as he emerged. He slung an arm around Dean's shoulders and was surprised when Dean didn't protest. Dean looked at him like he was a traitor when he saw the wheelchair waiting for him on the other side of the men's room door.

"You're raspy, doc's not gonna let you get anywhere near Sammy unless he can confirm you don't have a cold."

"Let's get this over this, I need to see Sam," Dean ground out.

"I should send you back down to emergency," Dr. Needlemyer said "but I think you and your family have been through enough waiting and it's pretty full down there, you can just step into the room on the left and I'll be with you in a minute."

When Dean scowled, the doctor smiled in understanding. "Hey, be grateful, I'm a neurosurgeon, I haven't done check ups in twenty five years since I left family practice and you don't even want to ask what my usual fee is, and what's more, my wife expected me home two hours ago."

"Thanks, Doc," Bobby said, leading Dean down the hall.

A few minutes later Dr Needlemyer examined Dean. Dean had to lie and say he was a security officer who had a run in with a gang of rowdies at a concert he worked. A convenient story he and Bobby made up earlier to explain Dean's apparent injuries should anyone ask.

Satisfied that Dean wouldn't carry a virus to Sam, but concerned by the fatigue and the still far from healed wounds and the fact that Dean's reaction to food indicated he hadn't been eating, Dr. Needlmyer made a deal with Dean.

"You were released from the hospital when?" the doctor asked, taking notes on a chart.

Dean just looked at the floor.

"Uh huh, tough guy, eh? I'm guessing against medical advice."

"Got in one, doc," said Bobby, happy to have someone on his side in reigning Dean in.

"What's the deal?" Dean barked, not ungratefully but desperate to be by Sam's side.

"I want to put you on a round on IV fluids and anti inflammatory drugs. If you're good, I'll even give you some pain meds that you clearly haven't been taking. You can sit in Sam's room quietly on the lazy-boy. Otherwise, you're going to get sicker, making my patient sicker. You don't want that, I don't want that, my wife doesn't want that and you don't want her on your case."

Oh this doctor was good. It was as if he knew Dean. As Dean relinquished his shirt for a hospital gown but refused to give up his jeans, the doctor and Bobby stepped outside.

"You have the magic touch, doc," Bobby said.

"I have boys," was all Needlemyer said. "The nurse will be in to set Dean up and she'll take you both to see Sam. I'm on call but I hope not to see you until tomorrow."

XXXX

Bobby pushed Dean's IV pole down the hall as the nurse opened the door. Dean had pictured what Sam would look like but his Sasquatch of a little brother was nearly buried by medical equipment. There was barely a patch of skin upon which to rest his hand, to reassure himself that Sam was warm and alive.

Every few hours a nurse injected various medicines into Sam's IV. Dean knew they were there to help but he felt an urge to stand in front of his brother, take the needles, take the ventilator, and take everything that had been done to Sam. Because this wasn't supposed to happen to Sam.

When darkness fell outside the windows, the nurse took Sam's vitals, noting them on a chart, telling Dean that he was holding his own. She then took out a syringe with the name Dean Nichols taped to the side and told Dean that it was time for his pain meds. She winked at Bobby who smiled gratefully as she left. Dean's head lolled slowly forward onto Sam's bed and Bobby laid him back in the lazy boy and elevated the legs covering Dean with a blanket that he would thrown off if he was aware reminding everyone that he was fine.

Two days later, Sam's eyelids began to flutter and when both eyes opened at the same time, Dean stood up to hover over him. Sam reached for the ventilator in his mouth but Dean stilled his hands at his sides gently.

XXX

"Sammy." The one word he'd longed to hear, the only one that could drag him back to willingly face the pain and know that he was no longer alone in the world.

Revelling in all the things that were Dean as his big brother leaned gently over him, the leather mixed with light cologne, the pain filled smiles, the tears that did push ups in the corners of his eyes fighting furiously not to fall, the pendant he still wore despite all the mean words and hurt, Sam let himself out of the coma to sleep.

Bobby left the hospital that night to get some rest, only once Dean's shirt was returned to him and he ate a full meal without signs of sickness and was taking his meds on his own willingly.

XXX

The ventilator was removed two days after Sam started to show spontaneous respiration. When he was able to stay awake long enough, the neurosurgeon performed pin-prick tests and cognitive tests on Sam, telling Dean he could stay in the room if he didn't interfere or upset Sam in any way.

Dr. Needlemyer asked a series of questions suitable for head nods or hand squeezes. Sam kept his eyes locked on Dean's as he did his best to answer the questions. Sam's heart monitors ratcheted up a notch each time he was unsure of an answer.

"Sam, I need you to stay calm for me and follow my finger, okay?" Sam nodded and Dean watched as Sam's head followed the doctor's hand.

"No, just your eyes, Sam, don't turn your head." Sam tried but became frustrated and closed his eyes and turned his head away.

"It's perfectly normal to find it difficult to fix your focus right now, Sam. The fact that you were able to identify how many fingers were held up in the last test is a very positive sign."

Needlmyer moved on to a series of tests in which Sam's hands and fingers were pricked by pins. Dean wanted to shout with joy each time Sam flinched and that conflicted with his desire to punch the doctor for hurting his little brother.

"Well, overall, I'm amazed at the progress you're making, young man. We'll retest your fixed focus tomorrow and I think we can ship you off to a regular ward after that.

When Dr. Needlemyer left the room with the nurses, Sam tried to talk.

"You are such a girl, can't even stop talking when you have a broken jaw." Dean smiled down at Sam. The smile reached his eyes but hollowed his cheeks, showing weight loss and suffering.

Sam tried to smile but winced.

"Ah, sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but they're gonna set and wire your jaw this afternoon," Dean told Sam.

XXX

The next day Bobby and Dean sat by Sam's bed in a step down ward as he slept off the heavy pain medication from yesterdays jaw wiring.

Sam moaned and Dean was by his side in an instant.

"Hey, kiddo, that's it, open your eyes," Dean coaxed, but a voice interrupted that drew Sam's eyes to the doorway, convincing Dean that his fixed focus problem was under control but bringing on a whole new set of problems.

XXXX

Sam flinched when he saw Ruby standing in the doorway. His weakness caused instant waves of desire in his belly. He would heal faster if he could have her. He wouldn't hurt so badly. He would be able to keep Dean safe.

But at what cost? Dean looked beyond furious.

"Out. Now." Dean brooked no arguments.

Ruby looked to Sam. Sam pushed his hunger for her down deep where it joined the pain in his body, stirring the agony awake even through the heavy medication. Sam looked away as Dean bodily removed Ruby from his room.

Sam closed his eyes and listened to them in the hall when the flap of wings sounded right beside him. Sam squinted. Castiel stood over him, studying him and then cocking his head toward the hall. For all the times for his jaw to be wired shut!

Castiel walked out the door to join Ruby and Dean in a whispered, but heated conversation.

Dean backed up when he saw the angel.

"I told you I was done. We're done! You get it? You can't keep killing us and replacing us like some goldfish you forgot to feed because each time we come back there's less! And it was you that wanted me to believe that Sammy was evil." Dean's voice broke, as he turned from angel to demon in accurate accusation. "And he saved your ass, Castiel. And you, Ruby, you say you remember humanity, and Cas, you say He loves humanity … neither of you knows squat about humanity. Now stay the hell away from my brother."

Dean fought against the sobs that wanted to escape the tightness of his chest. "Stay away from him, or so help me…"

"You're not Sam's daddy, Dean," Ruby said boldly, but she had the good sense to sidestep around him as she walked into Sam's room. Castiel watched as she made Sam look at her. Dean stood watching over Castiel's shoulder.

It broke another something in Dean, because his heart had gone to the scrap heap weeks ago, to see the way Sam and Ruby could clearly communicate though Sam couldn't say a word. Like he and Sam used to. Ruby offered her arm to Sam but he turned his head away and the thing that broke in Dean pieced itself back together. Ruby stormed past Dean assuring Sam that she'd be back when he was ready.

XXXX

Sam needed to show Dean that he was at least willing to wait to fortify his powers again so they could talk, really talk, and inventory the weapons they had for the war that was in their hands whether they wanted it or not. Sam was grateful for the time Dean bought them to heal. If he could have smiled he would have. He'd told Cas to stay away from Dean only last week.

Castiel didn't go as quickly as Ruby, battle of wills or something.

"It is written two are better than one," Castiel said. "I will seek revelation."

"You do that, Cas."

Castiel turned to walk away. "For what it's worth, Dean, goldfish are God's creatures too."

"Was that your attempt at a joke, Cas?" Dean asked, sounding amused.

Cas might have smiled at that. Dean wasn't sure. He was sure Cas would be back. He and Ruby both, but first he wanted to get Sam strong again.

XXX

Bobby insisted Dean and Sam stay with him until Sam was well. They left the hospital with the assurance that given time; Sam would make a full recovery. After that, they would weather whatever came with whatever hand they were dealt. Together. _For two are better than one._


	12. Hands

**Hands.**

**Summary. . . . . . A dangerous hunt, an unknown entity, and two brother's that are barely talking. What could possibly go wrong?**

**Disclaimer. . . . . Shirtless scenes, remember I said there would be more of them, okay there's a few more, but you have to agree still no where near enough. Not mine, Kripkies.**

**Blue Peanut's Notes. . . . . . . Wow, round two! And what a round this has turned out to be! I have to thank Emerald-Water for such an amazing scene that took me so far out of the box, and challenged me in so many ways. Trying to make the writing seem seamless on this one was hard because her descriptions were so amazingly vivid, but I think I managed it. I hope I did an okay job for you, E-W, and didn't muck it up too much. **

The sounds had become so familiar now, his mind has taken to shutting them out; the soft squeak of leather across polished linoleum; the crackling of the paging system, as calls for doctors, or for aid were shouted out; the ping and then the almost inaudible swish of the elevator opening and closing, gurney wheels adding their own squeak to those of the shoes that scurried endlessly by; the cries of loved ones as they waited patiently for news, eyes raising in hope, only to fall in despair as hassled doctors rushed on by; and the most dreaded sound of all, the continuous whine of heart monitors that signaled another life had ended. Only the harsh turning of the clocks numbers seemed to break through the barriers his mind had thrown up, drawing his eyes and his attention their way, as though if he looked at it, time would stop, or even reverse, and this nightmare would end, or would never have started.

He shifted his tall frame awkwardly on the rigid, durable furniture, trying his hardest to avoid drawing attention to himself as he struggled to gain a position that was less numbing and more comfortable; instantly berating himself for seeking comfort at a time like this, knowing he deserved to be as uncomfortable as possible after what he had done. He contemplated rising again, anything to break the monotony of sitting and waiting, changing his mind almost immediately as his thoughts drifted back to when they had first arrived, his continued pacing back and forth, and bloody, disheveled looks irritating other patients family members to the point where complaints had been voiced, a short mild mannered male nurse reluctantly, nervously, being the one who had walked over and asked politely for him to remain seated, or to risk being thrown out. Fear had struck then, fear at not being there if the worst should happen, so he had sat, and had stayed seated, his body and mind numbing as the numbers continued to tick over, and the minutes turned into hours, and eventually into a day.

Maneuvering ting his body again on the hard plastic chair, he looked down at his shaking hands; hands that still carried blood in the grooves of his skin, and embedded deep within his fingernails; hands that had tried desperately to stop the blood from flowing; hands that no matter how hard he tried to clean them, refused to give up the traces of crimson; hands that were crusted with the blood of his brother. He contemplated his hands; hands that caressed, yet could hurt; hands that held, yet could push; hands that were so strong, yet at the same time so soft and gentle; hands that held secrets. He flinched at the crashing sound in one of the adjoining trauma-rooms, almost jumping to his feet, but then he sat again, and continued to look down on his hands; hands that stroked, yet at the same time hit; hands that offered comfort, yet at times withheld it; hands that would clap with joy, or would hide his sadness; hands that were able to do so many things, yet could not stop the bleeding. How he wished now, that they could heal.

"Family of Dean Winter?" The austere voice of the surgeon ground out.

He jumped to his feet, racing forward. "How is he Doc?" He asked, hands forgotten for now, as they wiped themselves off to shake the doctors hands. They started to tremble again when he was led to the small, windowless room, as they found their way to his face in grief, hiding the sadness and pain before they gently and softly reached down to push away and spike once more the few strands of hair from his brother's forehead, as they settled to gently take the lax, cool hand of his sibling, and started to rub soothing and comforting circles on its back.

"If there's no further complications he should make a full recovery, it was touch and go for a while, the bleeding just refused to be staunched, meaning a transfer was in order. We'll be keeping an eye out for any signs of rejection, and should that happen. . . . . . . ."

He drowned out the man as soon as he said Dean was going to be okay, his focus returning to his hand in his brothers, comforting and being comforted by the repetitive motion of his fingers, his mind drifting again to yesterday and to how they had both arrived here. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A hand drummed nervously against a leg that tapped the upholstered floor of the Impala, as it's twin gripped tightly papers that held the clues to their next hunt, papers that were gradually becoming worn and crinkled as he perused them again and again in an attempt to glean just that one gem of information that would make sense of all this. Dropping the papers into his lap he pinched the bridge of his nose as the first signs of a headache began to let themselves be known; his thumb and finger turning circles in an effort to ease the growing tension. Slouching further into the seat that was beginning to mold to his form, he grasped his still moving hand stilling it's rhythmic motion, but unable to stop the nervous wringing that replaced it. He looked down at them lying in his lap, his hands that held such lethal power, yet at the same time, that could gently love. A killers hands, a saviors hands. Hands that with each passing day, he felt grow heavier and heavier as the burden that was placed upon them intensified.

He looked away and to his left, willing his brother to see the doubt and fear that was coursing through his veins, but Dean's attention was blinkered and totally engrossed on the dark road before him; it had been ever since he had found out about Sam using his powers. Dragging a hand through his hair, he leaned a weary head against the cool glass of the car's window, his mind returning to a time when Dean could instantly tell if something was wrong, if something was bothering him; those days were long gone now though, as broken as the promises he had given to Dean, the drift between them extensive, and in his darker moments Sam thought, unfixable. Unconsciously he began again to tap his foot, his hand's dropping back to his lap their own motion soon following close behind. So use to being ignored, he started when Dean spoke, his brother's voice unemotional, cold, and to the point.

"Sam! It's the middle of the night, I'm tired, and I just want to get this hunt over with. Are you trying to piss me off?" He barely glanced Sam's way before adding. "Will you stop tapping your damn foot! And quit the brooding too! Just read through the papers and get us some damn good clues as to what is going on here."

Sam's eyes stung as the words struck deep, widening the chasm that had started to fester in his heart. Gulping down a steadying breath he swallowed back a sob, licking dry lips and coughing before replying, hoping his voice sounded firm, yet knowing it didn't. "Erm, right, I checked the papers and everything looks okay." He lied. "There's a couple of things that don't make sense, but it seems doable." A part of him had hoped Dean would sense his discomfort, but all he garnered in response was an angry grunt before a deafening silence descended again, suffocating Sam all the more, wrapping itself around his heart and squeezing tightly. He stilled his movements and moved his eyes back to the darkness outside his window, the coldness externally rivaled by the atmosphere within.

He must have dozed off, his body shutting down of it's own accord in an attempt to gather the necessary rest it had been missing and required, because one moment he was staring at the gloomy shadows as they drifted past the fast moving vehicle, the next he was being bustled about his seat as the car's wheels objected to the rough treatment it was receiving from the bumpy, uneven terrain. Opening heavy, lethargic eyes he blinked slowly, clearing his vision before taking in the new sights outside the glass, realizing immediately just how long he had slept as his vision took in the dawning of a new day, knowing that he would pay for sleeping so long as he looked to his left and the stiff, rigid posture of his brother.

Attempting to make peace before war broke out, he coughed before inquiring. "Why didn't you wake me?" The words though had little effect, Dean seemingly oblivious to him even speaking as his eyes stayed staring forward. "Dean, please, don't be like this." He begged,. Yet again though he received nothing but a steely, cold gaze in response. "Fine! I'm sick of trying to appease you. I wont apologizes for doing what I did, I saved those people Dean, does that count for nothing?"

"Stop talking Sam, or I swear to god. . . . . . . ."

"You swear to god what Dean? You'll make me? Well come on then, bring it! At least it would be some sort of emotion from you. You've changed Dean, and not for the good."

"You want to talk about change? You of all people should know about changing Sam, you've certainly done a lot of it. I thought I knew you! I thought we were on the same side! I thought you would always have my back! Well I guess I thought wrong. I'm not sure who you are anymore Sam, I'm not even sure I want to call you brother anymore. So yeah, you might have saved those people, but at what cost Sam? What cost?" Struck dumb by the viciousness of Dean's words, Sam turned his head away, unwilling to let Dean see just how hurt he was, allowing the uncomfortable silence to fall once again. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A twitch, a small movement coming from the bed brought his lamenting to an abrupt end, his eyes traveling down his arm back to his hand wrapped securely around his brothers, his vision trained to pick up the movement again, but it never came and Sam began to doubt if he had even felt it in the first place; if his mind so exhausted and remorseful, had allowed him to feel that what he wanted most, to imagine his brother awakening, but like a cruel twist of fate it was not to be. Dean still lay, silent and unmoving. He rubbed at weary eyes; eyes that had not slept since those fateful few hours in the car before all this began, moving to cover his mouth as though stopping the sobs that were building from escaping. His hand's, one grasped around the cool skin of his brother's, the other still holding back the sobs, couldn't though hold back the tears that flowed unceasingly from his eyes, stinging the tired rims, leaving them raw and reddened.

He turned his face away from Dean's, still consciously unwilling to let his sleeping brother see him cry. Gaining moderate control of his emotions, his hand left his mouth to wipe away the moisture that saturated his cheeks, and the mucus that dribbled from his nose, wiping the damp mess on his already filthy jeans before resting his arm on the edge of Dean's bed, bending the joint at his elbow before resting his heavy head in the crook, his eyelids battling to stay open as weariness struck once more. As he lost his battle to stay awake, Sam's thoughts were taken back to the hunt. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Traveling up the uneven, bracken strewn forest floor towards the last known coordinates of their prey, Sam's concerns for this hunt grew. He knew he should convey to Dean what was bothering him, but the relative calm that had descended between them was a nice change, Dean even at times talking to him politely, and Sam was loathe to jeopardize the fragile truce. As they climbed further and further up the slightly inclining trail Sam considered the clues that he had found, his mind trying to make sense of the jumbled mess, yet every avenue he tried always seemed to lead back to the same conclusion, and if that were the case, things were about to get bad. Really bad.

A stumble ahead of him brought his mind back to the present, stopping himself before crashing into Dean's back he waited for his older brother to regain his balance, his eyes and ears now alert as a sudden blast of cold stroked it's way down his spine, causing him to involuntarily shiver in response, an action that didn't go unnoticed by Dean, his brother's own senses opening further, his breath steadying as his eyes and ears scoured the densely packed terrain. At seeing, or hearing nothing out of the ordinary he turned to Sam and inquired. "Did you hear something?"

"No, I just had a feeling." Sam replied, not missing the fleeting look of reproach that Dean shot his way. Trying to make amends he added. "I thought I felt a cold spot, that's all. But it's gone now."

Still alert and secretly observing his surroundings, Dean suggested. "Maybe we should rest a while, we're close now, best we gather our strength whilst we can." Taking off his pack he turned away and walked over to sit upon a downed tree branch. Grabbing a bottle of water and his ever present trusty M and M's, he settled and proceeded to replenish his tired, starved body.

Divesting his own pack, Sam rummaged around for a bottle of water, his eating habits having reverted back to how they were after Jess died, he forwent the granola bars he had packed, choosing instead to just quench his thirst. Leaning back against a large maple, he contemplated the evidence he had collected, trying once again to make sense of the confusing chaos it made. The attacks had all the hallmarks of a wendigo attack, vicious gashes ripped into the victims flesh, yet the bodies were left behind to rot and decay until discovered. There were also reports of tracks leading away from the scene, tracks from feet; feet that wore shoes. Again he thought about telling Dean his worries, but one look at his brother's face had him backing down yet again. It would be a wendigo, he told himself, forcing his worries aside he concentrated on making himself believe it.

Twenty minutes later and they were on their way again, Dean leading as always, Sam bringing up the rear, his mind not completely on the job as he strived to convince himself. They reached a blind bend in the trail, Dean already turning the corner when the attack came from out of nowhere. His mind distracted Sam missed the snapping of twigs to his left, his peripheral vision catching at the last moment something moving at speed towards him. He shouted out a warning as he was tackled from the side, sharp claws slashing at his face and arms as he struggled to remove the heavy weight from his body. Finally managing to place a foot beneath the beast, he pushed with all his strength, forcing the beast away from him. Quickly regaining his footing, he readied himself for round two, but the beasts knowledge of the area worked to his advantage, Sam losing sight of the creature in the dense woodland.

"Sam? Sammy? Are you okay? What the hell was that?"

"I'm not sure but I can tell you something, that was no damn wendigo!"

"Did you see where it went?"

"No! It was too quick. . . . . . . ." Sam's voice trailed off as a inhuman screech tore through the air. Hairs rising on both boys necks as the feeling of being watched returned. Standing back to back, guns poised and raised, both alert, both scouring the greenery for any signs of movement, the brotherly bond so broken, so bruised, mended and whole for the time being as both worried about the safety of the other. Turning slowly they were both pointing the wrong way when the beast resumed it's attack, barging into them both, the shock making both boys drop the weapons, the guns skimming across the fallen leaves before dropping beneath the surface to be lost, for now, in a sea of green.

Dean recovered first, quickly getting back on his feet, he stood protectively between Sam and where the beast had retreated. Calling out Sam's name he waited for a response, panic setting in when all he garnered in response was the snapping of twigs signaling the beast was still present. Slyly glancing Sam's way he was dismayed to see crimson coating on his brother's face, a tear slicing it's way from his cheek to dangerously close to his temple, his eyes closed, his head laying uncomfortably against the rock it had cruelly struck. He started to bend, desperate to make sure Sam was okay, but the beast had other ideas, striking whilst he was distracted. Man and beast collided, Dean's breath taken away from the force, rolling and rolling across the vegetation, until they stopped, the beasts heavy form landing on top. He could feel claws digging into the soft flesh of his torso, the talons renting tears in his skin, causing him to cry out in agony as they dug deeper and deeper. As his strength waned the beasts features came into view, Dean's gradually decreasing vision seeing it's true form for the first time. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Sam gasped as a hand was softly placed on his shoulder, chills running through him as he remembered his tour down memory lane, how he had woken groggily to see Dean in trouble, to see Dean in pain, to see the beast about to take it's killer blow. He looked up into the saddened, tired eyes of Bobby. Seeing sympathy there, Sam couldn't hold back his anger. "Don't!" He shouted.

"Don't what?" Bobby inquired.

"Don't stand there and look at me as though to say this wasn't my fault." Sam spat back. "I don't need your sympathy. I knew something was wrong with this hunt. I felt it was all wrong, but I didn't say crap to Dean about how I was feeling. I stayed quiet because I was sick of fighting and he got hurt. I deserve to feel this way. I should be in that bed, not Dean. I should be the one fighting for my life, not him." Sam paused, sighing deeply he hesitated before adding, his voice stuttering slightly. "I just want him back, Bobby."

Tears fell then as his anger diminished to be replaced by fear, Bobby pulling the younger man into his chest, he held him close allowing the tears to fall knowing from past experience that if Sam was permitted to wallow in his despair he would relapse into a world where his own health would take a backseat, to the point where eating and sleeping didn't exist. The moment was stopped as quick as it started, Sam regaining his composure, his mood turning back to the self loathing anger it had been moments earlier, as he pushed Bobby away. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that, as I said I deserve to feel this way. I'm just gonna use the bathroom, will you stay with him?" Not waiting for Bobby's answer, knowing that the older hunter would stay with Dean, Sam stood up and turned to leave, brushing off Bobby's arm in his haste to get out of the room before the tears, that were threatening once more, fell.

He stood under the harsh florescent light in the small adjoining room and stared at his own reflection with disgust. He pressed a shaking hand against the gash and bruises that stood out against the stark whiteness of his face, taking sadistic pleasure in the sudden pain it brought, as it reminded him of why they were there, as it reminded him of the agony he should be feeling. Bringing his hand back down, he looked at the knuckles that were cracked and dry, the knuckles that had saved so many, the knuckles that had taken a life. Dry blood slowly turning rusty brown with age caught between the cracks and lines of his skin. He suddenly felt ashamed, dirty. Pushing on the dispenser he allowed the pink liquid soap to coat his hands before turning on the tap and waiting for the water to turn from cold to warm. He placed his hands under the faucet and started scrubbing, trying desperately to wash away his guilt, not feeling the tap water gradually increase in temperature as his thoughts drifted back. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Sam came round as Dean's cries of pain assaulted his ears. Moving stiffly, unsteadily, he rose using his hands to find purchase in the wet, musty foliage. Turning his head his breath caught in his throat at the sight of Dean straddled by. . . . . . .was that a man? His thoughts about the beasts true nature were stopped though as it's claw ending hands descended towards Dean's throat. All aches forgotten, Sam rose, racing across the distance he roared out in anger and frustration, anything to take the man's attention from Dean and onto him. He dove into the man's side, pushing him away from Dean as the claws broke skin. Rolling once Sam stood having achieved what he had set out to do, the man's attention now firmly locked on him.

If it wasn't for the eyes; eyes that raged with anger, Sam would have sworn his assessment was wrong about the species of the man. Thick, matted, dirty hair cascaded down the man's back, tangling with a beard in places, a beard that looked as dry and coarse as the leaves and twigs that grew out of it. Clothes made from furs, and left over litter, covered a body that was at the same time, both sinewy yet muscular. His feet were bare, hardened over the years to the point were they could withstand any weather, any terrain. It was his hands that frightened Sam the most though, hands that still dripped with his brothers blood, hands that ended with talon like fingernails, hands that were now focused on him.

Slowly Sam began to edge the hermit away from Dean and himself closer, determined to keep it from harming his brother any more. Taking a chance he tried to communicate with it, hoping against hope he could find some way to get through to him. "Who are you? Why are you killing all these people? Why are you hurting me and my brother?" Having not really expected an answer, he was shocked when a voice answered, raspy from under use, yet still clear in the otherwise hushed silence of the forest.

"I guard this place from people like you, people who want to destroy it, who want to build on it. I can't allow that to happen, this is my home."

"What happened to you? Why have you become like you are?" Sam asked, still maneuvering the hermit away from Dean as he spoke.

"People made me this way. People like you!"

"But I. . . .we haven't done anything to harm you. You attacked us."

"You're just the same as all the others. You come here to harm her, to destroy her."

"What do you mean, her?"

"The forest. It was here first. It deserves to be allowed to stay here."

"So you killed all those people to save a forest?"

"I couldn't allow them to tear her down, not only would my home be destroyed, but this magical beauty would too. So I got rid of the them, just like I will get rid of you, and him. I have to preserve that which God created."

With no concern for his own health, only worrying about Dean's, Sam struck. He couldn't allow Dean to die, he deserved to live, to have the life that was meant for him. He ignored the claws that dug deep within him, as he battled to gain an advantage, to gain the upper hand, but years of living off the land, of hunting prey for food, of avoiding human contact by running, hiding, had made the hermit strong and fast; his strength soon overwhelming Sam until he found himself weakening. Knowing he didn't have long, knowing that once he had been taken care of Dean would be next, forced Sam into action; action he was reluctant to take.

Concentrating on the powers that scared Dean most, the powers that had caused so much trouble between them in the first place, Sam turned all his pent up rage in to one blast of his telekinesis, throwing the hermit away from his body and into the shrubs and bushes that littered the forest. Standing he looked towards where the man had landed, hoping that he would withdraw now that Sam had gained the upper hand, but it wasn't to be, the hermit attacking again once he had regained his balance. Sam stood his ground, his legs slightly apart, steady and secure, his arm rising and stretching out from his body, his features frowning as he concentrated all the more. Focusing he pushed the hermit away again and again, hoping each time that the man would get the message, yet each time the hermit would try again to finish what he had started.

Closing his eyes briefly, Sam sighed, knowing now what he needed to do. All his own aches and pains forgotten, Sam opened his eyes, and pushed harder than he ever had, using powers he had only ever used on demons before, not knowing what the results would be, not caring as he thought Dean was in danger. His eyes found his brother's prone figure, blood seeping from his numerous wounds to sink into the foliage, angering Sam all the more, until his own blood was pouring from his nose as he increased the pressure on the hermit. He didn't hear the choked cries, didn't see the hermits eyes become bulbous, didn't see his face beneath the beard gradually change from red, to purple, to blue; he only saw in his mind Dean dying in the rotting leaves on the forest floor. He didn't even see his brother struggle to rise, his heavy eyes dragging open, his hand raised as though to stop him. . . . . . . . . . . .

For the second time that day, Sam jumped as Bobby's hand landed on his shoulder. "Jesus boy, what the hell ya playing at? Look at what you've done, ya stupid idjit." Bobby shouted as he pulled Sam away from the scalding water

Pain registered in Sam then, his hands throbbing as the burnt skin began to redden and blister, his fingers tightening as the flesh swelled. He turned scared, confused eyes Bobby's way before speaking. "I don't know. . . . . . . . I didn't mean to. . . . . . . . . I just wanted to get rid of the blood, I just wanted to get rid of the guilt, I just wanted to get rid of the death, I just wanted things to return to how they used to be, maybe I just wanted to wash all the troubles, all the reminders, away."

"Awww Sam. From what you've said happened, you had no choice but to kill him, it was you and Dean, or him. I wont say using your powers was the way to go, I wont say it doesn't scare me to think that you've used them. But I'm glad that you did boy, you two boys are like sons to me, and I'd hate to lose either of you. Things will be alright son, you'll see. Now come on, lets get you fixed up."

Sam followed numbly along as Bobby guided him back into Dean's room, sitting him in a chair before leaving to gain some assistance for Sam's fresh wounds. As the door swung quietly behind him, Sam looked from his burnt hands back to his brother's face. Out of tears, having cried so many already, he could only turn tired, red, stinging eyes Dean's way as he spoke. "I'm so sorry I used them again Dean, I just couldn't lose you again. I can only hope that you can forgive me, that you'll understand" He felt elation and then distraught as, whilst he spoke, he watched Dean's head move, thinking for a minute that his brother could be waking up; but Winchester luck struck again, and as Sam encouraged Dean to open his eyes, Dean turned away from the voice, an indication to Sam's already fragile mind that his brother didn't want him, didn't forgive him, didn't understand, didn't love him. His mouth dropping open, his eyes deadened, his heart broken, Sam just sat staring at nothing, his mind closed.

Returning to the room, with a nurse closely following, Bobby was amazed to see Dean's head moving about. Turning his happy eyes Sam's way he expected to see the same reaction, worried when all he got was a blank, dead stare. Looking at the nurse he asked, "What's happened? What could have gone wrong? He was okay, well apart from his hands, five minutes ago?"

Taking a penlight out of her pocket, the nurse shone it in Sam's eyes before snapping her fingers to gain a response, but that blank stare just kept itself in place. I think he's in shock, I've noticed he's not been sleeping, that he's not been eating, I think everything has just caught up with him. I'll be back soon, I'll go and find a doctor."

She left a stunned Bobby in her wake as she once again left the room. "Sam?" He tried. "Sammy, come on son, don't do this, your brother needs ya. Sammy?" But it was no use Sam's mind was completely shut down. Pulling his head into his torso, Bobby ran his fingers through Sam's hair hoping to bring some comfort to the obviously distraught Winchester, carrying on even when the nurse returned, a doctor following in her wake. He relinquished hold as the doctor examined Sam, standing off to the side, a nervous hand rubbing his coarse beard. So concerned with Sam, he never noticed Dean's eyes open, never saw his hand start to move, only just hearing him as he rasped words out.

"What's wrong with Sam?"

"Dean! Are you okay? Do you need anything?" Bobby rushed out, his excitement at seeing Dean awake overwhelming him.

"Water, please." Dean asked, drinking hastily when the glass was pressed to his lips before asking again. "What's wrong with Sam?"

Bobby shook his head, he really should have known better, should have known that, once awake, Dean's first concern would have been Sam, forgetting all his own injuries and focusing on Sam's. He shook his head at the Winchester stubbornness that showed itself when ever one of them was hurt, and at the bond, that to his eyes, still showed strongly. "I think the past days events have finally caught up with him Dean." He replied eventually, not going into too much detail whilst others were still in the room, receiving a small nod in return. Both men turned expectant eyes the doctors way as he coughed to draw their attention.

"I think you're right, his body wants to shut down to rest, but something is stopping him, so he's gone into shock, the injuries to his hands triggering it. We're going to sedate him for his own good, to allow him to get the rest he needs. His hands will be okay given time, and I don't believe there will be any permanent damage to them, the rest of his injuries from the bear attack are okay, I just believe he's tired, physically and emotionally. I'll have another bed brought in here, something tells me if I don't I'll have another tired patient on my hands. I'll also have the nurse administer the sedative, once that's done and Sam's settled I'll check you over, Dean."

An hour later after a very thorough and, what for Dean at time, very embarrassing examination, the two Winchester's and Bobby were finally left alone. Although tired himself after his ordeal, Dean was reluctant to sleep, something telling him he needed to push Bobby more, that he needed to fill in the blanks about the hunt that were missing in his mind. "What did Sam tell you about the hunt Bobby? Why has he reacted this way? He's seen me worse than this before."

"What do you remember?" Bobby inquired.

"Most of it, some things are vague, I remember arguing with Sam, I think I remember him saying something was off about the hunt but I think I ignored him, I remember stopping and thinking we were being watched, I remember the pain, I remember that the beast wasn't a beast but a man." Dean's eyes took on a faraway look as his voice trailed off and memories resurfaced. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Excruciating pain erupted from every part of his body as consciousness returned to Dean. Fighting against eyelids that fervently wished to stay closed, Dean momentarily forgot where he was when he finally succeeded in raising them and everything around him was coated with a misty haze. Blinking rapidly to work the fog away elicited the results he needed, but left him fighting the nausea that rose, his brain sending signals for his stomach to protest the violent movement. He breathed deeply to steady his quelling guts, his mind already realizing how agonizing heaving now would be to his already damaged body. A sound to his left took his mind off his own discomfort, and he swung his head slowly around, his mouth dropping open, his eyes aghast as his sight showed him Sam; Sam who was at that moment using his powers; using his powers to kill the beast; the beast that was human.

He raised his hand unsteadily, trying desperately to get his brother's attention, to stop him from succeeding, but Sam's mind was focused and blinkered, only seeing that which he believed would hurt Dean all the more. Running his tongue over dry lips, Dean tried to muster the strength to shout out, anything to get Sam to stop, the older brother already knowing how guilty Sam would feel later if he succeeded in creating the hermits demise, but his limited strength was waning, his voice coming out as nothing more than a mere whisper. He could only watch as Sam mentally squeezed harder, could only watch as the hermit began to choke, until with one final push the beast that had once been a man was no longer. Dean watched as his brother's eyes changed back from the blank, cold, angry stare, to the soft, expressive eyes that could manipulate even the hardest of mothers. He could only stare as Sam dropped his hand before raising it once again, his brothers eyes staring at the limb with hate, before they finally turned Dean's way; a look of pure horror appearing in the brown orbs. He watched as Sam tried to talk, tried to explain, but for once words failed him, his mouth opening and closing but nothing coming out. As darkness threatened to take Dean again, his last image was of Sam walking his way, his last feeling was of his own body protesting a branch poking sorely into his back and his attempts at trying to push away. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Crap Bobby! I think I may have hurt Sam." Dean held up his hand to stop Bobby's rant at his words, and added. "Not in that way! I was hurting and trying to get comfortable and I moved away from Sam. I think he thinks I was scared of him or something."

"And was you? Scared of him I mean."

"No! Hell no! I'm scared of these powers, but never of him. Never of him. I was more scared of how he would react when he realized what he had done. You know as well as I do how he is, he over thinks things, mulls over every little thing he does, stores it and frets over it. To know that he killed. . . . . . ." Dean looked at the door before continuing, his voice lowering slightly. "That he killed a man, this will haunt Sam day and night. Did he say anything to you about why he did it?" When Bobby shook his head, Dean added. "He must have thought he had no other choice, he must have thought that using his powers was the only way. And I have to say from what I remember, with the way that hermit attacked, I'd have to agree with him." Dean looked over at his, for now, peacefully sleeping brother. "I just hope he'll give me a chance to tell him."

Seeing Dean's eyes become heavier the more they spoke Bobby advised. "Well that talk will have to wait son, you need to rest, and before you start arguing with me, Sam will be asleep for a while yet, and I suggest you do the same. I'll watch over you both until you wake."

"Promise me you'll wake me if Sam wakes? Or if he starts having nightmares?"

"I will." Bobby watched as his words sunk in and Dean's eyes lost their battle to stay open. Pulling a chair over between the two beds, he settled in for the wait, hoping that when both boys awoke they would be able to settle their differences. That hope was dashed though as night turned into day.

Dean woke early feeling his whole body throbbing, pulsating with agony, and nausea churning his stomach. He struggled to sit, needing desperately to expel the vile liquid that was bubbling up his throat, yet weakened as he was he could barely lift his heavy body mere inches from the bed before his strength gave out. Falling back to the bed, he gasped as pain exploded all the more from his jarred frame. He gagged, trying to hold the vile liquid in unable to take, in his fragile state, the humiliation of being sick upon himself. He started slightly when firm hands gently gripped his shoulders, pulling him carefully from the bed. He groaned as he was pulled against a strong chest, and the comforting hands left his shoulders, groaned again as a bowl was placed below his chin and he was finally allowed to rid himself of the bile that was building up.

He cried out in agony as the first heaves ripped through his body, aggravating all his aches and pains, tears pooling in his eyes before streaming unceasingly down his stubble covered cheeks. He calmed slightly as one of the strong hands began rubbing his back, bringing comfort and grounding him from the pain. He looked up as the heaves diminished, expecting to see Bobby's grizzled features, surprised when it was Sam's guilt riddled face that stared back down at him, his brother's soulful eyes barely meeting his before they averted away. Dean wanted to protest, but his raw throat wouldn't allow it, as the hand comforting his back was taken away, and he was once again gently lowered to the bed, Sam covering him with the sheet, his hands lingering and fixing the sheet a tad too long, his mouth opening and closing as though he wanted to say something, but the sound of the door opening broke the moment and as Bobby reentered the room, a coffee and sandwich balanced in one hand, Sam scooted back to his own bed, taking with him the only chance the two of them had of talking and fixing things between them, Dean knowing that Sam would close him down every chance he got from now on.

Bobby cursed himself as he watched the scene in front of him, knowing deep down that he had interrupted something, looking at both boys he spoke, "Dean? Sam? Is everything okay?"

A brief glance was shared by both men. A sad, twitch of the lips exchanged before both reluctantly answered. "Everything's fine." An answer Bobby accepted, yet knew to be a lie. He sat heavily in his chair watching the two men, wondering if things would ever be fine again.

**The End.**


	13. Forgotten

**A/N:** This is a story about Friendship and Hatred, Betrayal and Trust, Self-loathing and Forgiveness and the Power a Spark of Hope can give you...

Thank you Rachel for this awesome scene. I loved it, and also it gave me a hard time I still hope you'll all like what I did to it.

**Rachel's A/N: **I just wanna say, that even though I provided the scene, Lee has done a magnificent job transforming it into a oneshot! I'm proud to have worked with you and I hope in the near future we can work together again. I hope everyone enjoys the fic!

Winchester Single Shots: **Forgotten**

-----------------

"You live long enough to hear the sounds of guns,

Long enough to find yourself screaming every night,

Live long enough to see your friends betray you."

-----------------

"Sam! Sam! It's here! It is... oh my god! Dean! Listen, we were on a wrong path all along. We've been caught off guard. It…it attacked and Dean and me got separated. I can hear it. It's... it's in the trees now. I... we need you here... Sam, you hear me... what the hell... Shit!...ARRRGHHHH!!!"

_----------_

_He was watching them from the darkness, hiding. His blood was boiling in rage and the desire for revenge. But at the same time his heart was bleeding with loss and pain and sadness, freezing him, stopping every coherent thought in him. His children! He had been unable to prevent it from happening. He had been only able to watch as they slaughtered his family. Kill his precious son and his beautiful daughter. Their cries and strangled breaths would be something he would never forget, their dead eyes, their blood... and then the fire. They had set them aflame! Not bad enough that they had killed them, but they had destroyed all evidence of their existence, erased them from earth's surface. Nothing left, only his memories. _

_So with the time, the hole deep inside of him grew, fed from the emotions of sadness, hate, pain and rage. It let him gain strength from those emotions, let him grow stronger and more sinister. And mad. Until__… _

SPNSPN

The gun went off with a somewhat too-loud bang and Dean flinched before sinking to his knees, breath coming out in harsh breaths. He stared, wide-eyed at the man before him, shock capturing his body as he gasped in pain. He heard a shout from beside him, vaguely recognizing the voice, but not comprehending it fully.

He was in the middle of a forest, the trees standing tall and grave, wind sending leaves spiraling to the ground in clusters of color. A full moon seemingly painted onto a midnight black sky shone brilliantly, casting eerie shadows throughout the area, and emphasizing the bright crimson of blood spilling from the gunshot wound to his stomach.

"Bobby?" _Why had Bobby shot him?_

Dean moaned as he toppled sideways, strong arms wrapping around his body before he could fall to the ground. Looking up with mossy green orbs, Dean let a smile slip onto his features. It was going to be okay, Sammy was there.

As the black dots dancing across his vision began to merge, Dean felt his body be gently laid on the ground. "Don' damage th' goods, S'mmy…" he slurred as Sam stood from beside him.

The click of a gun's safety lock being disabled reverberated through the small clearing, the sound sharper and deadlier than normal.

…

He ran. His energy fueled from a rush of fear pulsing through his veins. Fear for his brother. He had to find him in time! He had to find him in time! He ducked to avoid low hanging branches, jumped over roots and stumps of trees. They all only intend to slow him down. And there was barely any time left.

The loud echo of the shot let him freeze for a moment. _Oh my god! No! _

_Please let him be okay! Please let him be okay!_ With strength gained from near panic now he crashed through the last evergreens obstructing his view and yelled his brother's name. Falling to his knees he skidded the last few feet on the grassy ground, able to catch his falling sibling.

"'m here! Gottcha. I'm here. Shhh…"

His eyes shot up at the maniac laughter ringing through the trees.

"An eye for an eye!" the bodiless voice cackled.

Slowly and gentle he let his brother slide to the ground, grabbing his clammy hands and pressed them on the gushing wound.

"Keep the pressure." He ignored the slurred words and stood with his gun cocked and raised, listening to the sound of the wind whispering in the trees, letting his gaze shift along the sharp line of trees.

"You'll learn how it is to lose your family!" the voice cackled again.

"Same way as you took MINE!"

"S'mmmmyyy!"

He felt his heart stop for a moment as he heard his name breathed in an almost inaudible whisper, and with it every coherent thought was taken from him.

Turning around he saw his brother writhing on the ground, his breathes suddenly nothing more then wet, wheezed little gasps.

Forgotten was the threat in the forest around him, forgotten his rage against the thing they were dealing with.

"Dean!" with fast steps he was back at his brother's side, falling to his knees, the gun as all the other things abandoned for the moment, lying forgotten in the grass.

"Dean!" he whispered, pulling his brother's hands away from the gaping wound feeling the shaking in them, while Dean tried to shy away from him and curl into a small ball.

"Let me help you." Sam's voice was gentle as he shrugged out of his jacket and over-shirt. He balled his shirt and used it as a dressing, pushing down on the steady flow of blood from his brother's abdomen.

Dean screamed as he pressed down on the wound, the sound raw and deafening, waking and frightening many of the animals nearby.

Then his eyes rolled up in his head and he went limp with a gasping wheeze.

"First is shoot!" their hidden enemy taunted.

Sam's blood ran cold and his hand shook while he continued the pressure to staunch the bleeding. He gently pulled Dean up, feeling the uneven work of his chest drawing in breaths.

"S'mm!" He almost flinched, looking down at Dean, seeing him to fight open his eyes.

"Here. I'm right here, man!" Sam tried to sound calm.

"'t was Bobby…" Dean breathed again, the pain over the betrayal evident in his voice.

"Shh! No, Dean… no!" he said.

"I… saw…'m" Dean disagreed.

"No. It wasn't Bobby." Sam gently argued, trying to smile.

He saw Dean's face scrunch. "Hurts…" he wheezed and continued: "But I…"

"Shhh!" Sam hissed, feeling his arms tightening their grip on Dean.

From somewhere on their right he could hear a "whooshing" sound, followed by crackling.

Sam swallowed down dryly, his stomach suddenly performing a somersault. He knew that sound.

----

_He couldn't breathe, the acrid smell of smoke making it impossible, but he had to stop the fire. He had to stop it, eating its way toward them. He had to... _

_Heat let him sway, singeing his hair, blistering his skin as he continued forward. A sound feral and raw came from his lips, as he understood he couldn't do what he wanted to do. That the fire couldn't be stopped from its raging, from devouring their bodies. It would kill and engulf him soon, too. And then no one would be here; all memories would be gone, forgotten. No revenge for his children, for the loss he had suffered. _

_This gave him strength, letting him lock his knees to stumble out of the burning hell he found himself in. Leaving his children behind to be burned. Revenge. _

...

Fire. He could feel the heat, was blinded by its blazing yellow. He had long ago forgotten how cool air tasted. The air he now breathed, hot and acrid, the weight of the brother he dragged along every second now too much to bear. He choked on the next hot wave of air, blinking away the tears obscuring his vision, running down his cheeks to dry halfway. Tears caused by the heat of the fire, the despair that started to rage through him with every step. He couldn't let go of Dean. He wouldn't.

The wind had fanned the fire, which was now a wall of all-consuming, scorching heat, eating it's way toward them. The voice of their foe was long gone, leaving them to their destiny.

Sam felt the skin on his face taut and dry. He was sure that there would soon be blisters and burn-marks. He had to move faster, had to get outta there… Suddenly his brother's knees buckled altogether, and the shift of weight was too much for Sam to counterbalance.

With a strangled cry he lost his grip on Dean, slumping sideways, he was taken down as well, his hands in vain trying to stop the fall and keep his weight off of Dean.

He could hear the gurgled cry, even through the roar of the flames around them. His eyes watered as he felt his wrist twist the wrong way and for a moment all the horror he was in grayed out, the bluster of the fire simmered down and his eyes drifted close.

...

"Second is burn!" a voice whispered in his ear, and pulled back with a menacing laugh, startling Sam.

He felt himself lifted off his brother, by rough, calloused hands that had grabbed him at the collar of his jacket, being dragged away. Away from Dean and the flames. Away from his brother... hurt! Dean was hurt! His first feeble attempts suddenly gained in fierceness as he fought in earnest. A hard blow to his face stunned him momentarily and his head snapped back, looking into the eyes of... Bobby...

Sam's voice wasn't more then a whisper, as he shook his head no.

"No..." _Not Bobby. It couldn't be Bobby. Not Bobby._

His counterpart started to laugh, and he was pushed hard into a tree, hands still held him upright as Bobby started to speak.

...

"So long... I've waited sooo long to carry out my revenge. So long." One of the calloused hands touched his cheeks, running a finger along his jaw-line.

"They've been so special. My son and my beautiful, little daughter." Bobby's voice told him, eyes flashing in anger, hurt and loss, and something so inhuman Sam's soul cringed as their gazes locked. The look turned into predatory, orbs contracting, giving those lurking eyes something animalistic. The fingers that had caressed his face were suddenly wrapping around his throat.

"You'll learn to lose family. I'll let you live long enough to see him die. And both of you will burn. Wiped from existence. Forgotten. Like my children..."

"Gosh...."

He could hear a small snort. "What... you afraid now? Sam?"

"Who... are you?" Sam pushed out between little gasps. His eyes drifting to his brother's prone form, panic setting in as he couldn't make out the movement of Dean's chest anymore and the fire drew nearer.

"I'm your nightmare. My words will be the last you hear. You killed my children. And you should have killed me too. I don't have a name. But all "Shape-Shifters" - as you call them – I created them. They call me father."

The words made Sam's mind numb. _Shape-Shifters? The nest they wiped out a few months ago? This was what this was about? Revenge?_ He felt himself grow weaker with each passing second.

"Bobby... what... did you... it was you? All along?" Dark spots now danced along in his vision, the fire starting to have blind spots.

"It was me that called you... I learned from 'Bobby' the things I needed to know about you. He was so clueless... you should have seen his face..."

----

_He stared at the face that loomed over him. Comprehension started to slam into him. How could he have been so blind? The call of his old college-buddy, devastated about the horrendous death of his wife. The researching and finding out about the gruesome kills that all had one in unison. Salt and Fire. And then driving down to find Fred missing..._

"_Like sons... this is getting better and better!" the excited voice interrupted the line of his thoughts. "I really have to thank you and the people at the Roadhouse. You learn a lot among hunters... although I'm thinking it's enough to know one of your stinking breed." The man wearing his face and talking with his tongue continued to chatter. "Winchester's... they erased my family. Now it is time for them to pay the debt..." Blinding white pain burned deep into his skull robbing him off his breath, every conscious thought fleeing. Just the pain existed and the laugh of the creature wearing his skin. Then darkness settled and he knew no more..._

----

"He was so... easy to read. All you hunters are. You know one and you know all. And then there were his eyes as he realized who I was. No Werewolf or Wendigo or Spirit. Nothing he encountered yet..."

Sam felt the hands around his throat loosen a little, but still no air came past his tortured throat. It was too dry and hot to breathe anymore he felt himself loosing focus more and more and more... as suddenly he fell, slumping, hitting the hot ground hard.

A screech so loud it even pierced through his befuddled mind let him fought his eyes open to see the creature on the ground and Dean standing there, legs apart, gun raised, the raging fire illuminating him from behind as if he was standing between Sam and hell itself.

He took in a first ragging breath, wincing as the scorching heat burned down his windpipe, a slight smile tugging on his face, but it fell as he saw Dean's hand dropping the gun, his gun-arm slumping at the same time his knees buckled and this time no one was there to break his fall.

----

He didn't wake up gently, lying there and enjoying the few minutes you have between dreamland and wakefulness. Something was nagging on his mind, teasing him, and shouting at him to wake up. That he needed to wake up so he could help... the boys! And with that he was wide awake, bolting into a sitting position, the intense feeling of dread and pain making him instantly sick to his stomach and he started retching.

The cramps continued to torture him for minutes, his head throbbing painfully in the rhythm of his too erratic heart.

The Shape-Shifter... Sam and Dean... it was his fault! He had himself be lured down here, after he had found out about the kills and salt and burns. Blood dripped down his nose, the gash that ran along the left side of his head reopened as he continued to dry-heave, his head felt as if splitting in two. _How long had he been here? Where was _here_ anyways?_

Blinking tired and fuzzy eyes he tried to clear his vision and looked around the... barn. And another information dribbled into his brain to be processed. Smoke... there was smoke! It took Bobby all but three times to get his feet under him and to stay, swaying slightly.

Annoyed he wiped over his face with the sleeve of his dirt-covered shirt smearing a blood-trail over his left cheek and soiling his clothes further. Turning around in the small, wooden barn he felt the air being a lot warmer up here then on the ground.

He had to get out of here. He needed to find the boys. However long he was here, his intuition told him it was long enough for Sam and Dean to get into trouble.

He froze as at that moment the loud echo of a shot rang out, followed by a second and a third...

_Oh, please no…the boys..._

----

Sam crawled over to where Dean lay using his good hand. As he reached Dean he felt himself start drifting again, the fight to stay conscious in this heat almost too much. Dean lay on his right side, blood seeping through the shirt Sam had used as a makeshift dressing and for a moment he was afraid. Afraid to touch his brother, to not find the flutter in the crook of Dean's neck, telling him he was still fighting. He stared on, willing his brother's chest to raise and then ever so slowly he dared to rest his hand on Dean's chest and tears of relieve flooded his eyes as he felt the erratic and irregular throb beneath his fingertips, and felt the shallow and uneven raise of his brother's chest to draw in air.

Something deep inside Sam started to wake at that. A power he'd never felt before. A power of will to move on and fight, now that he knew his brother still did. It ignited his very being, as he felt it pulse through him, gaining strength for this one task. Getting Dean and himself out of here, and away from the flames that licked nearer and nearer with each passing second.

He didn't know when he started moving with the weight of his brother in his arms, because for quiet a while the only thought left in him was: _Get out! Survive! Both of us!_

But eventually the air grew cooler, the wheezing breaths he took turned easier, the crude light of the flames grew dimmer. The raging fire was left behind. He stumbled then, loosing the fight against gravity and went to his knees, Dean slipping from his arms and onto the ground... and it was as he looked down on his brother's lax features, the almost white skin, only reddened where fire had tortured the skin as another set of hands was suddenly there, pressing down on the wound on Dean's stomach.

Sam looked up to see who it was and he felt something inside him snap as he looked in the features of Bobby again.

----

With an almost feral roar Sam was on his opponent, landing a hard punch in the other's face, pinning the man under him by straddling his hips.

"Don't you dare and touch him!" his voice was raw but menacing as another punch was placed but blocked.

"Sam!"

"He shot you! I saw him do it! He shot you! You went down! He shot you!" Sam's anger suddenly turned into panic. How was it possible for the Shape-Shifter to still be alive? Dean had shot it. Or did he miss? Was this their end?

"Sam!" He felt the creature under him writhe and buck, and suddenly the world was upside down and a heavy weight was pressing down on him, again cutting off his air-supply.

He had lost. He had lost. Dean would die because he had lost.... "He shot you!" he wheezed.

"Sam!"

Sam closed his eyes, feeling tears slipping down his cheeks no air making its way down his windpipe.

"Sam! Breathe! Breathe! Kiddo! Damn!" A slap to his cheek let him gasp. Air burbling down filling his lungs and his eyes snapped open as he looked into the bloodied face looming above him; concern shining from those eyes, as they assessed him, bore into him. Gone was the predatory look, the contraction of the pupils, and the hatred in those eyes. _Bobby's eyes._ Those were Bobby's eyes.

"Bobby..." Sam breathed.

"You with me boy?" the gruff voice of Bobby Singer asked him.

And Sam simply nodded, his eyes closing in exhaustion and fatigue.

"We need to help your brother! This is beyond our knowledge of healing and dealing. He needs a hospital, as fast as possible. And we need to get away from the fire. SAM!" he shook Sam's shoulder. "Sam! I can't carry you both! Sam... Sam c'mon ya idgit! Shit! You have your cell-phone with you? Sam!" Running his hands down Sam's pants, searching for the cell-phone he was relieved when he found it.

Sam was drifting by the time he heard Bobby's gruff voice again. "I need help..."

----

**2 weeks later**

Bobby's thoughts were drifting back, to the time in the woods, before help arrived. Again Sam, who in his state of mind was sure he was the Shape-Shifter that was responsible for Dean being shot, attacked him.

And Dean... by the time Sam's body simply had shut down... the time he had knelt beside the young hunter and had pushed down on the seeping wound, trying to keep the blood from flowing out of him.

He had managed to kick down the door of his prison, and saw the smoke out there, feeling the heat of the flames that yet not had arrived but soon would. He started in the direction he thought the shots had rang out, knowing that probably he would walk away from the boys. He hadn't found the place where the shots had fell, but he had stumbled across a blood-trail and drag-marks, following them, because deep inside he knew it was one of the boys. He stopped dead as he saw Sam kneeling on the ground; head down, staring at his prone brother.

His stupor was replaced by self-loathing and then the urge to help, to set things right again. But before he as much as put a hand on Dean the younger man's head snapped up and Bobby was sure he would never forget the emotions he could read in the face and eyes of Sam Winchester...

A slap to his shoulder let him shake himself out of the memories, and he looked up to meet green eyes in a face far to pale; the few burn-marks marring the features the only visible telltale of what had happened. The smile on Dean's face wavered as if he was able to read the dark thoughts of Bobby.

"Brooding is Sam's MO, you know?" Dean told him, placing a beer in front of him, then gently sat down opposite Bobby, his hand resting on the healing gun-shot-wound. Bobby raised his eyebrows.

"Is that so?" he asked voice gruff.

"You couldn't have known, Bobby." a soft voice told from behind him and his head turned, a slight, sad smile tugging on his lips.

"Sam..."

Sam slumped into the last of the free chairs, placing his own beer in front of him, his face marred with burns almost identical to his brother's.

"It must feel like betrayal to you." Bobby simply said, his eyes wandering from Sam's to Dean's searching there. Searching for the hate, the betrayal, the hurt he felt in him but he only was met with earnest, understanding, friendship and loyalty.

"You couldn't have known, Bobby." Sam's soft voice repeated and Dean's timbre confirmed: "You couldn't have known."

**FIN**

-----

"… but a true friend is eternal."

-----


	14. Crack The Shutters

TITLE: Crack the Shutters

SUMMARY: Written for the second round of WSS. Another hunt, an angry spirit and a brother who has to make a decision puts the boys in danger. Set in Season 1 by Soncnica, who wrote the awesome scene. I tried to follow her request and hurt Dean and keep it a little more Dean centered. Sorry, if it didn't work out all the way, after all, I'm a Sam girl. I did my best.

The bold part is Soncnica's scene, the rest is mine. Well almost, because the boys still don't belong to me, neither does anything else Supernatural.

"**Dean!!" Sam's deep voice spilled over the room.**

"**Dean!!" he screamed for his brother, walking around the room, down the hallway. **

"**Dean!!! Where the hell are you?!" his voice was getting louder and thicker as he made his way up the stairs of the house. **

**Everything was rotting, steps missing wood, large holes gaping in them, small splinters trying to embed into his leg, he could feel the whole house tremble when he jumped over the stairs.**

"**Dean!! Answer me!!" he couldn't hide the panic that gripped him, couldn't keep it out of his voice. He knew Dean was somewhere in this gray eaten down house. He just needs to find him. **

**Dusk was just forming when Dean went missing. They stepped up three steps to get on the porch, when the sun was retreating, its last rays over the horizon; they opened the heavy door, when the glow faded behind the imaginary line far, far away. The door slammed behind Sam's back when Dean said: "'m gonna go look upstairs, you take downstairs." That was the last time Sam heard his brother.**

**When Dean walked carefully up the stairs and that was the last time Sam saw his brother. **

"**Dean, you up here!?" He yelled down the hall, the wood worms heard loud and clear over the noise his boots made on the crushed wooden floor.**

**Every door was off its hinge, the walls stripped bare; the house looked hundreds of years old. It even smelled like that…decaying, rotten, damp. But Sam was used to the smell; he worked in the smell for all his life. **

"**Dean! Answer me, damn it!"**

**But there was no answer, only hissing of the wind through the cracks in the wall. **

**No Dean, not a sound of him…from him. Nothing. Absolute silence, which was interrupted by the wind and the wood worms. **

**His hands were steady, his breathing shallow, his heartbeat painful and his mind fast. Replying everything he studied about this case. Every detail, but nothing gave him any answers. The family died, end of story. **

**There was nothing that would give him any clue about what could have happened to Dean. **

"**Dean!!!" his throat hurt from all the yelling, but he would rip it out if that would mean that he would find his brother. **

**Walking with haste and panic in his eyes, he checked every room, every closet, he even checked under the beds…finding nothing but dust and spiders. There was absolutely nothing. Nowhere. **

"**Dean, can you hear me?!" **

**His hands were starting to shake, fumbling with the stupid doors and curtains and bed covers and spider webs in his hair and…**

"**Sam!!" it was the faintest of sound coming from his left side, when he removed a heavy curtain to look behind it. **

"**Dean!" **

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

The oldest Winchester walked up the stairs, the wood underneath his heavy boots creaking in protest, ready to give in to the rot, which had worked on it for close to a hundred years. He shook his head when he thought about this place. It was amazing after all this time it was in as good a shape as it was.

This whole thing was strange anyway. Nice family, father a lawyer with ambitions, mother from a respected upper middle class family, the perfect wife for a future politician at the end of the nineteenth century, the children a six year old boy, the spitting image of his father and a three year old angelic looking girl. Well liked in the community, many friends, no known enemies, everything absolutely perfect, too perfect.

One morning in early fall the father doesn't show up in his office. His associate gets worried, walks to the house, this is a small town we are talking about, finds the door locked. He just happens to have a key, gets in, find's everyone in the living room. Dad in the large arm chair, mom at the piano, the children on the couch, all of them dead, their throats slit from one ear to the other, like a big, freaking smile. End of story, killer was never found. After that no one wanted to live in the house.

Dean remembered giving his brother a strange look, asking how that related to them. Sam just rolled his eyes, telling him to wait until after he finished. So he continued to tell how rumors of spirits residing in the place started within just weeks after the murders. Nothing happened though, not until last week, when a teenager was found dead on the lawn just outside the front door, cause of death was not known, just that his heart stopped for some strange reason. Because it was raining and there were two set of prints going into the house, the inside was checked out and a young girl was found upstairs, tortured to death. Thing was, the house was locked and all windows still boarded up.

And that's when Sam had given him one of his grins and Dean just wanted to strangle him because this was so much like his geek brother. Couldn't just talk about the recent killings first before delving into the back story. College didn't change him at all, well maybe made him a little more of a pain in the butt, but to be honest, he wouldn't want him any other way.

Taking the last step with the same care as the others before, Dean tightened his grip on his sawed off and walked down the hall, an eerie feeling making the hair on his neck stand up. Pushing the cracked door in front of him open all the way, he almost jumped at the long creaking sound, scolding himself for being so jumpy. He lifted his flashlight and looked around before he entered the room.

What happened next was too fast for his mind to process as a whirl of air surrounded him and darkness took him over before he could even take a breath.

SN SN SN SN S N

The oldest Winchester woke with a start. Taking in his surroundings at the same time as he tried to clear his head, he found himself sitting in a wooden arm chair in the middle of an otherwise empty and windowless room. There was no light source he could see, yet the room was bright as daylight.

Trying to stand up to get to the only exit, he found it impossible to move his arms and legs. Expecting to find them tied, he was surprised, when he found no ropes or shackles. It seemed like his forearms were glued to the arm rests in much the same way as his calves seemed to be stuck to the legs of the chair. Again he tried to move, pulling his extremities away with all his strength but finding he couldn't move them even an inch. Something was seriously wrong here.

"You will not be able to move unless I allow you too."

Startled by the feminine voice, Dean lifted his head and found a dark haired woman standing in front of him. She had to be in her late twenties and might have been attractive at one time. Right now her long hair was messy with blood and there were spots where it appeared whole bunches had been pulled out. Both her eyes were black and blue and blood from several lacerations was dried to her forehead and cheeks. The upper lip was slip and swollen and when she opened her mouth the hunter observed several teeth were missing.

Moving his eyes down, he found her white blouse ripped in several spots and several buttons torn off, leaving a free view to more bruising and bleeding. Her tan slacks looked even worse, open and hanging half off her hips, her underwear beneath torn and bloodied.

"I see you are shocked by the way I look." she said, "It looks even worse, when I take off what is left of my cloth."

Before getting a chance to respond, his head was pulled back and he felt several forceful slaps to both cheeks, leaving them stinging and bleeding from something that felt like the imprint of a ring.

"Why are you doing this?" The oldest Winchester was sure he wouldn't get a response, as the woman in front of him was clearly a spirit. How else would she beat him without touching him?

So he was surprised, when she answered without hesitation, "I was brought here by someone who hated my husband. He did this to me and then told my husband to come here, alone. When James showed up, the man told him, he could save me by exchanging himself for me." She stopped and for a moment looked so sad, Dean thought she was going to cry. In an instant her expression changed to hatred, "He didn't even blink. Eight years of marriage and working my butt off to get him through college and he just turned around and walked out, leaving me here to get raped and killed."

Again his head was pulled back, only this time he could feel an invisible blade running down the left side of his face, ending at his jaw and picking up again on his chest. It sliced through his shirt and into the skin underneath, leaving him gasping as it ran deep enough to touch muscle.

"Oh, there is more to come," she said, now spotting an evil smile, "You see, I need to find out, if your brother down there will be different then my dear husband. The last time I tried didn't go so well. Okay, so the kid thought about it for a moment, but when he saw his girlfriend's face all cut and beat up, he couldn't get out fast enough. Didn't help him though, I let him get as far as the yard. No one would ever do this again."

"You still killed her though."

"Sure, after all he wanted me to." Shifting her stance, she added, "Now, call your brother in her."

"No!" Dean said defiantly.

"We'll see about that."

Several punches hit the young man's face, instantly making his eyes swell and blood from a new laceration above his right brow run into his eye. As if this wasn't enough, two punches into his stomach made him bent over and gasp for air.

"Call him." She barked.

"No!" It came out between wheezes but not any less defiant.

"Well, this could be fun. Seems like you are very protective, if your brother is anything like you, I might just get what I want."

"I will never let you have him, bitch." Dean winced when he received a blow in the mouth for his words, blood streaming down his chin from the split lower lip.

"I don't need you to call him." She grinned, "Just wanted to give you a chance to do it yourself."

Dean's face took on an expression of horror, as she imitated his voice without effort, adding a pained sound to it and calling, "Sam!!"

SN SN SN SN SN

The younger Winchester brother let go of the curtain and turned to his left where the sound came from. Looking around, he noticed the tall cabinet standing against the side wall. There were marks on the dusty floor around it, indicating it had recently been moved. He stepped toward it and leaned against it, finding it slid fairly easily to the side, revealing a door behind it.

Pulling his weapon out of the back of his jeans, he carefully cracked the door, pushing it open with his foot. The sight that greeted him made him forget all caution and run in and fall to his knees in front of the chair containing his brother.

"Oh God, Dean."

He gently put his hands on both side of the older hunters face, lifting it gently of his chest. For a second he took in the blood coming from several lacerations and the bruising and swelling to his eyes and cheeks.

"Dean, wake up." Not wanting to tap his face and hurt him, Sam raised his voice slightly. Not getting any response, he tried again, "Come on, you've got to wake up."

This time a slight moan escaped the other man and his eyes opened just a crack, "S'my."

"Yeah, it's me. We gotta get out of here." The urgency of his brother's voice helped the older hunter clear his head.

"No, leave me."

"What are you talking about? Let's go." Sam tried to help Dean up from the chair but found he couldn't move his arms. Looking for restraints, he was unable to find any, "What's going on here?"

"Get out of here now!"

"No way, not without you."

There was a clapping from the corner of the room, making the younger man turn in an instant and pointing his weapon at the woman, who appeared before him.

"Isn't this touching, what a reunion. Little brother won't leave without the older one." She took a step towards him.

"Don't come any closer or I'll shoot you." Sam threatened, lifting the gun slightly.

"And what will that do? Disperse me for a while? Well, it still won't get your brother out of here. So why don't you put that thing down."

Without warning the gun in his hands became burning hot and started to glow red. Dropping it, he gasped as he looked in shock at the blisters on his palms and fingers.

"Now that we took care of this, let's talk." She smiled at him, for a moment making her look almost human.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Funny, your brother asked me the same thing. It doesn't matter to you. All you need to know is that you have a chance to save him."

"Okay, what do I need to do?"

"No, Sam, don't listen to her, you need to get out now. No matter what she tells you, she is lying." Dean was desperate to persuade his brother.

"Shut up!" She glared at him, putting him at the receiving end of another punch in the face, this time with enough force to drive the chair backwards into the wall and making him loose consciousness again.

Sam jumped up and moved towards her but was also thrown backwards. Feeling the sharp pain as his right shoulder was impaled by a hook sticking out from the otherwise bare wall.

"Now you listen." Her face was distorted by anger, "I am serious about giving you a chance to save Dean but you have to do what I ask you, otherwise I will kill both of you."

"Okay, whatever it is, I'll do it." The younger Winchester responded with a wince.

"I'll let you take him outside and call for help, but only if you come back and take his place." Seeing he was ready to answer, she put her finger on his lips, "Not so fast, hear me out first. To take his place means I will do everything I did to him to you and more. I will continue to torture you until you will beg for mercy and then I will torture you some more before I finally kill you. And don't think you can get away from me. If you don't come back I will kill your brother before you can get off the property and then I will do those things to you anyway. On the other hand, you could walk out right now, leave Dean here and you'll live."

"I'll take his place." There was no hesitation in his voice and his eyes told her he was serious about it.

Again a smile appeared on her face, this time it was laced with sadness and regret, "Alright, take him then. You have five minutes to say good-bye. But know, I will be watching."

She released him, making him fall to his knees, taking the hook still imbedded in his back with him. Unable to hold back a moan, he took a breath, then got up and walked over to Dean, who was still lying on the floor, only now his arms and legs were no longer restrained.

For once glad that his brother was still unconscious, he lifted him up over his good shoulder, ignoring the pain in his hands. Without another word he left, carrying the older man downstairs and out to the lawn, carefully letting him down on the lawn.

Giving the Impala that was standing just outside the property a longing look, he sat down beside Dean.

"You know I love you, big brother. Maybe it's better that way. I couldn't stand it, if whatever killed Jess would kill you or dad too." He wiped the back of his hand over his face in an attempt to dry the tears running down his face, "I just wish I could tell you good-bye, but if you were awake, you wouldn't let me go." Getting up, he moved back towards the house. He turned and stood for a moment, then pulled his cell out, glad it was in his coat rather then his jeans pocket. The burns on his hands would have made it almost impossible to get to it otherwise. As it was, he found it hard to manage the small buttons, but thankfully 911 had only three numbers. Telling the operator on the other end the address and that there was an injured man in the front yard, he hung up and walked back into the house, not wanting to risk being late.

SN SN SN SN SN

Voices were all around him, some of them sounded frantic, some calm and encouraging. For a moment he drifted in the darkness, feeling the distant throbbing of pain, knowing it was only a foreboding of what was to come. Yet there was an urgency in the back of his mind that pushed him towards awareness, something that told him something was terribly wrong. The confusion which still clouded his mind made it difficult to hold on to the knowledge that was floating right in front of him. So he continued to fight his way forward, taking the increase in pain because it also brought increased clarity. And then it hit him without mercy.

"Ssssaaaaaammmmmmyyyy!"

Dean sat up and swung his feet off the exam table before any of the attending nurses and doctors could prevent him to do so. It was only the fast reaction of one of the nurses, who stepped forward and threw all of her four foot ten, ninety five pound frame at the oldest Winchester son that prevented him from face planting onto the floor, ripping out the IV line and possibly hanging or at least injuring himself further on the oxygen line.

He tried to push forward again, knowing he needed to get to his brother, but by now the rest of the medical team was all over him and hands restrained him, pushing him back down. Desperate he fought with all his strength, which right now was greatly diminished by the severe beating and blood loss. Realizing he couldn't win, he tried to convince them that he needed to go.

"No, I need to go, Sam, the spirit, she still has him. You need to let me go. The spirit is going to kill him."

Would he have been fully conscious, Dean would have realized just how out of it he sounded. In his state though, all he could think was his brother was going to die. Not getting the response he hoped for but rather had more hands holding him down and voices trying to calm him, he tried again, desperate to get through to them, yet found that his tongue didn't seem to work and his limbs got incredibly heavy. Realizing the betrayal of being given a sedative, he fought, continuing to mumble and thrash around until he could no longer resist the darkness that pulled him back under.

"Finally, okay, let's get him up to surgery before he bleeds out." The attendant surgeon demanded, "I'm afraid the concussion he got is much worse than I thought. He seems to be totally out of it."

SN SN SN SN SN

Sam was floating in a realm somewhere in between awareness and oblivion. After being subjected to two hours of torture the spirit had finally left him, promising to be back for more later. Restrained the same way Dean had been earlier, it was impossible for him to move and because of that it was also impossible to find a position to relieve the agony he was in.

Although she threatened to give him the same treatment as his brother, the cuts he received were more shallow and of greater number, being spread all over his body. Bruises of multiple sizes discolored his face and upper body, yet the worst pain came from the injury caused when he was slammed into the wall. The hook was still impaled into his right shoulder and by the way it felt, it was directly in the joint. Being restrained with his arms to the sides of the chair kept the injured limb fairly immobile, except for the times when the unseen force slammed into him, making his body move with it and in the process worsening the entry wound.

Exhausted from the constant beating and taunting the youngest Winchester wished he could just pass out, but the pain was what kept him from doing so. Not at the unbearable level where his body would shut his awareness down completely in order to protect him, it was bad enough to keep him from slipping into a fatigued sleep. He felt disconnected and unable to clear his mind enough to even try to come up with an escape plan. The only thing he could hope was that she kept her promise and Dean was now safe, and hopefully sound, in some hospital bed.

"Dean." He whispered his brother's name. He knew, if he was alive and able he would come back for him, if not it didn't matter anyway what happened to him.

SN SN SN SN SN

The spirit was attacking him again and again and there was nothing he could do to defend himself, the restraints held tight. It had gone on for what seemed like forever and although he was trying to hold on, he just wasn't sure he could do it much longer. Just as the air moved again, promising another blow, the sound of a gun going off startled him and the expected hit didn't come. Instead the entity in front of him dissipated and salt crystals rained down on him.

Disbelieving he opened his eyes and saw the grin on his brother's face, "Think I wouldn't come?"

"Never, I didn't doubt you for a moment." He relaxed as much as possible in his current position and a smile spread across his aching lips.

"Okay, let's get you out of…"

"Watch out." He tried to warn his brother as the spirit appeared behind him.

She laughed an evil laugh, then impaled his chest with a long rod, "I knew you would come back for him."

Tearing the rod back out of his body, the hunter sank to the ground, the light leaving his eyes.

"Nooooooo, Sammmmy…..!"

SN SN SN SN SN

Gentle but strong hands held him down, speaking calming words to him. Finally, after several moments of terror Dean was able to open his eyes and stare at the person in front of him. It took him several more minutes before his mind finally caught up with his mouth.

"Dad?"

The older man gave him a concerned but gentle smile, "Yeah, it's me. Remember, my number is still in your cell under 'dad'. They called me and I was only two hours away." His expression turning more serious as he asked, "Dean, where's your brother? What happened, the doc said you were alone when they found you."

"Sammy?" Obviously still not totally on this side of consciousness, the middle Winchester's eyes turned wide as he looked for an answer in his scrambled mind.

Although he really wanted to shake the answer out of his oldest, John held back and gave him the time he needed. Ever since he received the call, he had a bad feeling about his other son not being here, but he knew it could be as simple as the boys having an argument and separating for a while. He actually hoped that this was it, until he noticed Dean's face changing to express distress.

"Oh God, Sammy, I need to go." He tried to scramble up but was held back by a worried John.

"Okay, settle down kiddo. This won't do your brother any good. Tell me what happened."

"You don't under…stand, she… she got Sam, I…I got to get him back." He blew out, visibly hyperventilating.

Sitting down on the bed, John gently put his hands on his firstborn's shoulder, "Look at me Dean." He ordered, knowing it was the best way to get through to his son. Instantly green eyes filled with fear and panic locked with his, "Okay, that's good! Now take a deep breath and then listen."

Giving him a moment to pull himself back together, he waited until the trembling of his oldest' body stilled slightly, then continued, "Now tell me, who has Sam?"

"The spirit, she was the one who did this to me. She was going to kill me but then let me go for Sam."

"Wait, what do you mean she let you go for Sam?" The oldest Winchester looked confused, this just didn't sound right. Dean would never let his baby brother take his place.

"I told him not to, but she knocked me out. I really don't know what happened after that. Now, let's get out of here, we need to get Sam."

Although John knew his son was in no way up to leaving the hospital, he was also sure that he couldn't hold him back, especially not with his brother's life on the line. If he tried, Dean would wait until after he left and would follow him then. It was much better to have him close by and be able to keep an eye on him.

"Alright, let's get the nurse give you something for the pain and then I'll help you get dressed. You can tell me where we need to go and all the rest of the details to the story while we are in the car."

SN SN SN SN SN

By the time John's truck pulled up in front of the house, the Winchester patriarch was up to speed with everything that had happened the day before. He wanted to find his youngest and scream at him for doing something so stupid and at the same time hug him for being such a loyal brother. In the end he knew Dean would have done the same thing and so would he. Your life meant nothing, if you couldn't save someone else, especially if that someone was your brother or child.

Bringing the vehicle to a complete stop, he got out and ran around, helping his oldest out of his seat. Even with the pain medication he received before leaving the hospital, there was no question Dean was still hurting. It took him a few breaths to be able to straighten out and get his bearings. Giving the older man a nod, he tightened his grip around his weapon and started to walk towards the front porch, followed closely by his father, who beside his loaded sawed off, held a container of salt in his hands.

Entering the house carefully, John took the lead as he pulled his flashlight out of his coat pocket. He gave Dean a quick look and received a lift of his hand, pointing him toward the stairs. Making his way up the decrepit steps, always ready to point and shoot, he listened carefully for any noises around him but especially for any signs of distress from his son.

Arriving upstairs, Dean took over and led the way to where he had been caught by the ghost. Looking around, he for the first time realized he had no idea where the room he was held in was located.

John saw his distressed expression and said, "We'll find him, the room has to be around here."

Looking into every nook and cranny, it was Dean who finally noticed the scratches on the floor by the cabinet. Alerting his father, together they moved the piece of furniture out of the way, revealing the door behind it.

A tremble of anticipation ran through both men as they exchanged a quick glance before John turned the door knob.

The room was bathed in bright light, leaving no doubt of the identity of the person lying in the middle of the floor. Sam's eyes were closed and his upper body was on his back, his left arm at a ninety degree angle from his body, his right arm bent above his head, while his lover body was on the left side with his left leg stretched out and his right bent at the knee and halfway over the left. There was blood from a large laceration on the right side of his forehead, which left a puddle on the floor but was no longer bleeding. Even without closer inspection it was visible it was only superficial. The second wound, also on his right side, but closer to his ear and cheek, was deeper and had left streaks of red running across his face and was still continuing to bleed into his ear and from there onto the floor. There were more shallow wounds on his face, while both eyes were swollen and bruised. His shirt and jeans were cut to shreds with more cuts and bruises underneath, partially hidden by what was left of his clothes.

For a moment both men just stood there, sure their youngest was dead, until Dean let out a screamed, "If he's bleeding, he can't be dead." He immediately went down on his knees, sliding over to his kid brother. Checking for a heartbeat, he let out a relieved, "He's alive."

John wasted no time and also went down, immediately starting to check his youngest over. Trying to roll him to his side elicited a moan and a glance from confused hazel eyes.

"Sammy!" Both man called out in sync, Dean's version coming out more like a sob.

"It's alright now you're going to be safe. We'll get you out of here." The older brother assured him, starting to lift him up, which made another moan escape the younger man's mouth.

"Dean, I need to stop the bleeding first. He has a hook in his shoulder and it's bleeding heavily."

"But what about the spirit, she could be back any second?" Dean protested.

"We'll deal with her," Even though he was worried, the amount of blood from the injury caused him more anxiety right now.

Taking off his outer shirt, he tore it and wrapped strips around the foreign body still sticking from Sam's body. Tearing a hole large enough to thread the hook through into the rest of the shirt, he placed it over the injured site and wrapped it across his upper body, tying it underneath the opposite shoulder, effectively crafting a makeshift pressure bandage.

"Okay, we can go now." He gave his oldest a nod, before looking at Sam, "You ready kiddo?"

"No hurry, she's gone." The answer was slurred and ended with Sam's eyes rolling into his head before he lost consciousness again.

Giving Dean a confused look and receiving only a shrug, John carefully lifted the limp body, making sure the injured shoulder was not pressing against his body and Sam's arm remained on top of his abdomen to not cause him any further pain.

SN SN SN SN SN

Arriving outside the house, Dean slid into the back seat of the Impala and received his unconscious not so little brother from his father. John moved around the car and took his seat behind the wheel, only then remembering he didn't have the key. Looking back, he saw it dangling from his oldest outstretched hand right behind his shoulder. He reached and took it, starting the engine without further delay. They would come back for his truck later.

After what seemed a long drive back to the hospital and leaving Sam in the hands of the medical team, the two men walked back to the family area, knowing they would be in for a long wait. Dean, who had been running on pure adrenaline, could feel the effects waning and suddenly felt incredibly weary. He felt like he couldn't take another step. Reaching out, he grabbed on to his father's arm as darkness opened and swallowed him without further warning.

John was walking along mechanically, lost in his own thoughts, when he felt his son's hand grab on to his shirt, instinctively knowing something was wrong, he stopped and turned towards the younger man, just in time to see his eyes roll into his head and his body collapse. Only the fact that he had one arm on Dean already, and was able to reach out with his other hand with almost unbelievable speed, prevented the middle Winchester from face planting on the floor.

"Damn it, I should have seen that coming." He scolded himself as he lifted his son up and carried him back to the emergency department, "I need some help here." He yelled.

To his satisfaction, the response was instantaneous as a nurse came running out of one of the rooms, grabbing one of the gurneys, which was standing along the wall, when she recognized the problem. John carefully deposited his son on it, while explaining what had happened.

So for the second time today he watched as one of his sons was rolled away, now leaving him completely alone and worried. For a while he just stood there with his back against the wall, lost in thought. Guilt overwhelmed him as he remembered that this was the life he had chosen for his boys, and yet it wasn't really his choice. Life had chosen all of them, starting with the death of his wife, their mother. Now all he could do was hope that life didn't choose to take his boys away from him.

It had been one of the toughest decisions for him to leave Dean without telling him where he was going. He was glad his oldest had reacted the way he expected and reunited with his brother. Still, he never expected for that thing that killed their mother to go after Sam's girlfriend. It almost broke him to hear that his youngest was now going through the same devastation he had twenty two years ago and only the knowledge that it might put them into more danger kept him from rushing to their side at that time.

The reason he came this time had to do with the guilt for abandoning them the last time and his own need to see, if his sons were alright. His initial plan was to wait until Dean was out of the worst, find out from him where his brother was and leave again. Yet he should have known that Winchester 'luck' would never let things be this easy.

SN SN SN SN SN

Without realizing it, John had slid down the wall and was now sitting on the ground. His head had fallen forward and he was fast asleep. That's how Dr. Matson found him an hour later.

Crouching down, he gently put his hand on his shoulder, jerking back at the hand shooting upwards and holding his arm with an iron grip. Slightly dazed brown eyes looked at him, before the hand was removed again.

"Sorry."

"No problem. Mr. Bonham, I just wanted to let you know your sons are going to be alright." The physician smiled, "Now, why don't we go to Dean's room and I tell you all the details there."

A wave of relief took hold of the Winchester patriarch and made him light headed enough that he had to grab hold of the wall while standing up. Feeling steady again, he followed the man dressed in green scrubs to the elevator. Even though he didn't realize how relieved he really felt until he saw the sleeping form of his oldest upon entering the hospital room.

Dean's color, although slightly off, was much better now and his face looked relaxed in sleep.

"He shouldn't have left." Dr. Matson explained, "It was just too early for him to run out like that. That's the reason he collapsed. Thankfully none of his injuries opened up again and all he needs is some rest and more fluids. We treated the blood loss he experienced when he first came in but he still needed the IV's to help him get back to normal. So cutting himself loose was not the best idea."

"Tell me about it." John replied, "If I would have thought I could keep him here, while I went to find his brother I would have but you don't know my son."

Another smile appeared on the young man's face, "Maybe not, but I got a brother I'm really close to myself, so don't feel bad."

"So he is really going to be okay?"

"Yeah, a day or two of rest and some more IV's and then a couple weeks of recovery and he will be good as new." He assured him.

John let out a breath, then turned serious again, "And Sam?"

"He is in surgery right now. Most of his injuries are not life threatening. The worst is the hook in his shoulder. It is in there deep and besides causing some major bleeding there is injury to the bone, ligaments and rotator cuff. So Dr. Windham, one of our orthopedic surgeons is going to fix it, while Dr. Sandman is going to work on the other lacerations. He has a severe concussion, just like his brother but every one of us felt he should recover just fine. He already got a unit of blood before they took him up to the OR."

"So what's the prognosis for his shoulder?" John couldn't help but think about the consequences a lasting disability might have for his son.

There was a short delay before the doctor answered, but his answer was nonetheless honest, "I really can't give you a good answer to that. It depends on what Dr. Windham will find when he gets in there. If there is any nerve damage it could mean he might not recover full use of his arm. But right now I don't want you to worry too much until you find out all the details."

The oldest Winchester scrubbed his hand over his stubbly face, deciding he would take the advice and focus on the fact that Sam, like Dean was going to live. It didn't pay to borrow problems before they occurred.

"Thanks." He said, settling in a chair beside his oldest bed, suddenly feeling much older than he was.

"I'll have the nurse bring you some coffee and maybe something to eat." The doctor said, "You look like you could use it and I don't need another patient from your family. Two at a time are enough." He grinned before disappearing out of the room.

SN SN SN SN SN

It took three hours for the oldest Winchester son to awaken. After that it took another five hours, eight cups of coffee and a lot of effort on John's part to calm an irate with worry Dean down and some nurses worn down by the constant questions about how Sam was doing, before the little family was reunited.

Still groggy from the anesthetics and the pain medication, the youngest Winchester was desperately trying to stay awake. His eyes rested on his brother, who was only a hazy figure to his vision, which was still messed up by the drugs. His voice seemed strange and he wasn't really able to understand what he was saying but just the fact that it was Dean gave him all he needed to know.

He fought to let his brother know he was alright but found his lips and tongue wouldn't cooperate. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he talk or see right? Anxiously he started to move around until his hand was grabbed. Large, calloused and strong, yet at the same time gentle and reassuring it seemed familiar. Warmth filled him as another hand touched his cheek and a comforting voice whispered in his ear.

"Sleep Sammy, we'll be right here when you wake up."

Hearing his father's voice and knowing it meant Dean really was safe, he relaxed and let sleep claim him.

SN SN SN SN SN

It wasn't until the next day that Sam was able to stay awake for more than a few hours. Although still on pain medication, the doctor had decreased the dosage so it no longer kept him in a constant state of drowsiness.

John left to get some real coffee from the diner down the street from the hospital, while Dean, who had been discharged that morning, was again sitting beside the bed when Sam woke up this time.

"Nice to see those eyes of yours open for a change, I thought you were going to pull a sleeping beauty on me and sleep for a hundred years." He smirked.

The younger man smiled, wanting to give him a quick response but finding his mind wasn't cooperating with him quite yet. Instead he said, "You alright?"

He took in the bruising and multiple sutures on the other hunter's face, suddenly remembering the bloody mess his brother had been when he carried him out of the house.

"Me? I'm not the one in the bed. There is nothing wrong with me." Dean responded with a grin on his face.

"I can see that, that's why you look like you've been attacked by a shark."

"Honestly, I'm really okay. Little sore but nothing I can't deal with, you are the one that had us worried." His brother assured him, "So how are you feeling?"

Sam closed his eyes for a moment, trying to take inventory of his body. He could feel the tightness on his face and forehead, where sutures and swelling pulled the skin tight. The same was true for several other areas on his chest, arms and legs but nothing severe enough to cause more than a little discomfort. The area that caused him the greatest pain was his right shoulder. It felt like a constant pressure from the inside of the joint was expanding toward the outside. Now that he became aware of it, he couldn't suppress a moan. Trying to move his arm into a hopefully more comfortable position, he found it impossible as his limb was immobilized with a sling.

Not missing the moan, Dean was already on his feet and pushed the button of the PCA for him, "That should help. They had to do some major surgery on your shoulder. Doc said it would hurt for quite some time, but he thinks you'll be fine."

It took only a few minutes before Sam visibly relaxed as the pain medication started to kick in. Gratefully he nodded at his brother, "Thanks, this wasn't a lot of fun."

"Hey, that's what awesome big brother's are here for." Dean grinned.

"Hey, look who's awake!" A voice came from the door.

Startled, the youngest Winchester looked in the direction where it came from and his eyes widened, "Dad…" He whispered.

"In the flesh."

"So I didn't imagine you were holding my hand yesterday."

For a moment Sam was overwhelmed by emotions. This was the first time since he left for Stanford that he saw his father again. How long had he hoped and longed but also dreaded this moment. Now that he was here, he suddenly had no idea what to say. A single tear rolled down his left cheek as he looked at the older man.

John slowly came closer, setting the coffee cups on the table, before bending down and wordlessly embracing his youngest. He wanted to hold him tight and never let him go but knew that right now it would just cause Sam more pain. So he settled for putting one arm around his good shoulder and the other behind his neck. Feeling his eyes moisten, he blinked a few times before letting go of his son, making sure neither he nor Dean would discover his weakness.

"Dad, I…I'm sorry for leaving like I did."

"It's okay son, I wasn't really nice to you either." John confessed, then changed the subject, "I'm happy to see you awake, I was getting worried about you pulling a sleeping beauty on us…"

Sam rolled his eyes, "Not again!"

"What?" His father looked confused.

"I used that one on him already." Dean grinned.

"Oh, well, you have to confess, it's true though."

"You are exaggerating again, I remember waking up a few times." The youngest hunter couldn't help but defend himself.

"If you call what you did waking up. It wasn't like you were really with the program, more of a slight change in the depth of unconsciousness." Dean advised him.

"So how come I remember?"

An evil grin appeared on the older brother's face, "That's because you're always in some kinda state of being out of it."

Sam just rolled his eyes to that and sighed, "Jerk."

"Bitch."

SN SN SN SN SN

Now that Sam was improving John was torn between his desire to stay close to his sons and the knowledge that being with them could put them in extreme danger. Finally it was his need to protect them that won out.

He already talked to Dean and found exactly what he expected from his oldest – understanding that sometimes you couldn't follow your wishes and had to do what was necessary, even if it hurt. Talking to his younger son was more difficult and the Winchester patriarch dreaded the conversation, fearing Sam wouldn't react well to it after they've just been reunited.

The former college student listened quietly to his father, not interrupting him once while he laid all his arguments for having to leave out before him. After John finished there was a long time of silence, during which the father could see the emotions displayed on his youngest face.

Finally Sam spoke up, "I really don't want you to go without us. I don't get why we can't be with you and figure this out together?" He stopped himself for a moment, gratefully that John held back and didn't interrupt him, "But even though I don't understand your motives for doing things this way, I accept them. Please, just make sure and keep in touch."

He turned his face, trying to hide the tears threatening to fall, just to find a large calloused hand cupping his chin and gently turning him to lock eyes with his father again. There was a suspicious moistness to the dark brown eyes as John started to speak, "Thanks son, I wish I could make you understand, but maybe it means even more that you accept my judgment anyway. I promise I will stay in touch this time."

Sam wrapped his good hand around his neck, suddenly feeling like a little boy again. There was a time, long, long ago, before he was replaced by Dean when daddy was his hero and could do nothing wrong.

After a moment John pulled back, feeling the sudden need to change subjects again, "So what about the spirit? You said something about her being gone."

For a moment the younger man gave him a perplexed look, then he answered, "It was really strange. She seemed to enjoy hitting me, like it gave her some sort of twisted pleasure. For some reason she stopped in the middle of a hit and just looked at me. After a while a smile appeared on her face and she told me she didn't need to do this anymore, because I showed her that there were still people who cared enough about the ones they loved to give their life for them. Then she said Dean and I had given her the peace she needed and she now could rest. That's when she disappeared and I felt my bonds disappear. I remember trying to get up but somehow I couldn't and then I just hit the floor and must have passed out."

"Sounds like there is no salt and burn to do then." Dean stated.

"I think her killer took care of the burning. There is a large old wood burning stove in the kitchen. I took a cab over there this morning to retrieve my truck, so I decided to check it out and it looks like there are some ashes in there that haven't been there for no longer than a few months." John explained, then added apologetically, "I had to find out what happened, after all I didn't know if you would remember. Before I came back I checked the library and found an article that fits. Looks like her name was Debbie McCall, her husband Brad reported her missing, three days later they found him in their house, he put a bullet in his head. Police assumed he killed her and then couldn't live with it."

"Well, once again, we know better." Dean stated, "So they never found the bastard who did it?"

"No, they closed the case; after all they thought they had the killer."

"Guess in a way Brad deserved it, he let her die and obviously he didn't even go to the police." The middle Winchester mused.

"Maybe, but it looks like at least he regretted it and couldn't live with it." Sam through in, "Doesn't really make up for it but it's something.

The two older men exchanged glances and smiled. It was so much like their youngest to find the silver lining in even the darkest skies.

SN SN SN SN SN

Two days later found the brothers in a motel just a little ways down the street from the hospital. John had left the day before but not until after checked out the place, making sure it was fit for his sons' recovery and prepaid for a week. In addition, he left Dean with enough money to omit any need for hustling.

The oldest Winchester had been quiet all the way from the hospital and even after arriving at their accommodations exchanged only the most essential words with his brother. Sam immediately picked up on the change in the older man's mood and was worried that maybe he was withholding the truth about the severity of some of his own injuries.

Observing him for a while, his concern finally took over and he asked, "Dude, something is going on with you."

"I'm fine."

"Yeah, right and I'm a rhinoceros."

"Nice to meet you rhino." Dean tried to joke.

"No really man, I can tell when something is wrong. So get it over with and tell me. You know I won't let it go until you do." Sam said with a serious expression.

The older brother rubbed his hand over his face, "You took my place!"

The words stood in the room for several minutes while Sam looked for an adequate answer.

Finally he said, "That's what upsets you?"

"You shouldn't have done it. It isn't your job to protect me and sacrifice yourself for me." Dean cringed, the thought that he almost lost his kid brother was more than he could bear.

"Dean, I know you feel that way but do you really think you have a monopoly on keeping your brother safe? I could never see you in danger and not at least try to get you out of it." His voice had taken on a gentle tone.

"I can't lose you, don't you understand?"

"I understand but you have to understand that I can't lose you either. Do you know how difficult it was to be without you for all this time at Stanford? Not even Jessica could totally fill that void. I missed you and I couldn't bear to ever lose you again. Maybe you can't understand that but you can't change it either."

Again there was a time of silence before Dean responded, "I guess I can live with that, as long as you promise to be careful." He glanced up, then added, "You know I missed you too, I was there a few times, watching you, just to make sure you were okay."

He looked at his brother expectantly but was still surprised by his answer, "I know you were. I could feel you."

Sam took in the disbelieving look in his brother's eyes and added, "You were there the day after Christmas the first year. I spent most the day at the little café close to the dorms studying and drank more coffee than I ever did before. I was all jittery when I left and was sure I couldn't sleep. You put the sleeping pills on my room mate's desk making it look like they were his, didn't you?"

"But how?" Dean starred at him with his mouth open.

"Don't ask, I just knew, maybe because we've always been close."

The other man nodded thoughtfully, "Maybe you're right. I had this strange feeling one day and just needed to see you. So I took off, left dad in Minnesota with another hunter to hunt a Wendigo and drove to Stanford. Turned out you got hit by a car when you crossed the street, obviously too busy trying to read some book. Scared the shit out of me when I found out you got thrown in the air but got lucky and had just a mild concussion and a few bruised ribs."

"Yeah, I remember you were in the hospital, checking on me. You didn't do a very good job that time and I actually caught a glimpse of you. But one thing I can tell you that wasn't an accident. That car was parked and suddenly took off. The driver wanted to hit me; I could see it in the blackness of his eyes." Sam looked at him with a serious face.

Dean looked stricken, "Demon?"

"I think so, but let's not worry about it, that was the only attempt, nothing happened after that, at least not until Jess." He averted his eyes, making it clear he didn't want to talk about it.

Reluctantly the older man let it drop and thought about the rest of their conversation. For the first time he realized that maybe there was something between him and his brother that couldn't be broken, even when they were mad at each other, even if distance separated them. In a way he always knew about the bond but just never acknowledged it.

Now that he did, he also realized that Sam was right; he didn't have a monopoly on saving him. As much as he didn't want to, he had to accept that Sam felt the same way about him. He promised himself he would do his best, but deep inside he knew he could never change. He was proud of the man his little brother had become but to him Sammy would always be his responsibility, his to protect and save, even if that meant he would have to give his life. He would go to hell for his little brother and nothing could ever change that.

FIN

So I hope you like it. Let me know what you think, because reviews are like oxygen, you can never get enough of it. Hugs, Vonnie


	15. Waiting

**Scene Writer: DancerInTheDark101**

**Responder: Darksupernatural**

**A/N: So I'm posting this a little later than planned but Also just about the only chance I'll get. We're still missing a few of the players but That's real life for you. Anyway, things are about to get crazy for me because my wonderful friend Blue Peanut is coming for a visit *SQUEES* and I so can't wait. **

**Also, thanks to Dancer you all have a rare Wee-chester fic for your enjoyment. Thanks so much for sticking by us as a group and The players for this round so far are Dianne, Vonnie836, Soncnica, Emerald-Water. Peanut, and myself, with special guest scene writer Hotshow. Other scene writers are mentioned in the author's notes of the other chapters. Be sure to review for us and thanks for taking the time and enjoying!  
**

**Winchester Single Shots: Waiting**

The end of August was miserable in northern Michigan. Fall hit early and the leaves had already been beaten from the trees by the unrelenting rain. The mornings held a chill that spoke of the coming winter and the evenings turned dark early. Dean Winchester walked his father to the door. "Now, Dean, school starts at the first of the month. I need ya to go through all the clothes you and Sam have and see what you need. This hunt pays so, after ammunition, I should be able to get you and Sammy some new clothes. Keep an eye on your brother. I'll be back in a week, week and a half tops."

"Yes, sir."

"Hold the fort Dean. You know the drill."

"Salt all doors and windows. Don't answer for anyone, and if they come in uninvited, shoot first and ask questions later."

"And?"

"Watch out for Sammy."

"That's my boy. I don't have to tell you to stay in the apartment, 'cuz after the shtriga…."

"I know."

"Call Josh or Jim if you need anything. Josh is in PA, and Jim's at the parsonage in Blue Earth."

"Yes sir." Dean said again. John walked to the gleaming black car that was being caressed by the falling rain. He fired the engine and pulled away. Dean shivered, closing the door against the chilly dampness. "Hey Sammy, ya wanna watch TV?"

"What's on?" Sam said, not looking up from the book laid out in front of him. He was on the floor in front of the couch, laying on the dingy rug on his stomach. His legs were tucked under the wobbly coffee table and his sock feet tapped against the carpet.

Dean stepped over his legs and sat down on the worn couch, the springs beneath the broken down cushions creaking in protest. He reached a hand down between his ankles to where Sam's feet rested and gave his toes a tickle, bringing the squirming seven year old to attention, giggling. "Getcha ass up here, squirt." Dean said, laughing.

"You don't do that when dad's around. Why?"

"Do what?"

"Laugh."

Dean sobered and stood, keeping his back carefully to Sam he went to the TV and turned it on, quickly flicking through the three and a half channels they got. "Oh look, it's Thundercats. Again." Dean said, turning to sit on the couch beside Sam. The youngest Winchester quickly sank down on the couch beside his brother and curled up on one cushion, laying his head on Dean's thigh. Dean draped a hand over Sam's shoulder, glancing down as he felt Sam's head work into his thigh to find a comfortable spot against the muscle and bone that resided there.

"When's daddy comin' home?"

"Jeez runt, give it a rest. Man just left."

"He'll be back to take us to school won't he?" Sam asked, not wanting to miss his first day of first grade.

"If not, we'll just go."

"Okay." Sam said, accepting the answer since he knew he could trust Dean no matter what. Sam's eyes began feeling heavy half way through the show. Dean glanced down to see him resting against his leg, breathing even. _Huh, must've been watching Snarf sleep that put him out. _Dean thought absently as he lifted Sam's head and worked a small, stained pillow into the place of his lap. Sam buried his head in the pillow and sighed, going still again. Dean walked into the kitchen and looked around, wondering what to make for them to eat. He opened the refrigerator and stared at the contents, mentally checking off the list. Sighing, he closed the door and went to the cupboards, opening the squeaking doors each in turn and his mood getting blacker as he went. All he saw in the cupboards were some half gone sleeves of crackers, some bent cans of soup and two boxes of macaroni and cheese and one package of Oodles of Noodles. The nearly empty box of Lucky Charms rested next to half a loaf of white bread on the counter that looked like it had seen better days sometime last year. Dean grabbed a worn out chair from the kitchen table and pushed it across the scuffed linoleum to rest in front of the closed fridge. He stood up on the chair and stretched to reach the cheap plastic cookie jar that rested on top. He twisted the lid off and looked inside, grabbing the small bundle of money. He put the jar up again and hopped off the chair, counting the bills.

"Only thirty dollars?" _Dad, how am I supposed to take care of Sammy? _Dean wondered, his green eyes swimming before he rapidly blinked the tears away. Dean pocketed the money and turned and went to the kitchen doorway to see the end credits of Thundercats scrolling up the screen.

Dean walked to the couch to perch on the edge of the rough upholstery. "Sammy, hey kiddo." Dean said, gently shaking Sam's shoulder. Sam's brow wrinkled and blue green eyes opened.

"Dean?"

"Hey, you hungry?"

"Yeah."

"Mac 'n cheese it is then." Dean quipped. "Wanna set the table for us?"

"Sure." Sam said, sitting up on the couch and stretching before he padded to the kitchen. He pushed the chair that still sat in front of the fridge over to the cupboard where the chipped stoneware plates and plastic cups were kept. He carefully pulled two plates from the cupboard and sat them on the counter before reaching in for two of the plastic cups. He jumped down from the chair and reached up for the plates, holding the cups in the crook of his elbow. He sat everything out side by side on the table at two places and walked over to where the silverware was kept, pulling out two tarnished spoons which he placed beside the plates.

"All done Dean."

"Alright, dude. Go wash up." Dean said as he pulled everything together to make the macaroni and cheese out of the box.

He was spooning the concoction from the sauce pan when Sam returned from the bathroom. "Well, let me see 'em." Dean said, watching as Sam held up clean hands, still damp in the creases. "G'job, runt." He said as he ruffled Sam's long hair. He went to the fridge and removed the carton of milk, sniffing it cautiously before he poured some into Sam's cup. He stopped at half a glass so that Sam would have some for breakfast. He quietly put it back into the fridge before taking his own glass to the sink for some water. He turned on the tap and let the rust out of the pipes, allowing the water to cool before filling his glass. He went back to the table and spooned a little of the macaroni onto his plate. Sam watched him.

"Take more Dean."

"This is enough Sam."

"You never eat when Dad's not around either."

"I eat."

"Never your share. I'm not stupid Dean. Dad didn't leave us enough money did he?"

"Eat your macaroni Sam." Sam lowered his eyes to the table and spooned another bite of macaroni into his mouth. Dean ate his spoonful and when Sam looked at him somberly, he reluctantly took another helping, grateful that his stomach was going to be full.

"What are we doing tomorrow?"

"You know we have to stay in the apartment."

"I know, I just thought, maybe…"

"What Sammy?"

"Well, I thought you couldtellmesomestoriesaboutmom." Sam said in a rush, keeping his eyes on the scarred table top.

"No. I'm not…Sam, stop asking me for that."

"Dean, I…"

"Stop it!" Dean said, standing from the table so fast that his chair crashed to the floor. "Go to bed!"

"Dean, I'm sorry." Sam said, tears filling his eyes. "I just wanna remember her too." he said softly before running from the room, a sob filling the air in his wake.

Dean turned from the table and ran a hand through his close cropped hair, stepping up to the dingy sink to stare through the torn screen of the kitchen window at the rain that fell non stop. He planted both hands on the rim of the sink, his elbows bent as he watched the sky, unable to really see anything other than the darkened shadows of the tops of some over grown shrubs and the alley that ran behind the apartment building. He stood like that for some time, watching water droplets work their way down the glass outside. Finally turning away from the window, he gathered the dishes and washed them, leaving them in the drainer beside the sink to dry. He went into the living room and laid down thick salt lines across the threshold of the door and in the two small window sills before walking into the bedroom he shared with Sam to see his brother curled up on the full size bed, his jean clad legs pulled up to his chest and his head buried in the pillow. His shoulders shook as he tried and failed to stifle a sob.

Dean simply walked to the bed and curled up beside his brother. Dean reached an arm around his waist and pulled him close. Sam huffed a ragged breath and turned over quickly, wrapping his small arms around Dean's waist in return. "Sorry Sammy."

"Me too." Sam said in a small, tired voice before his red rimmed eyes drifted closed.

Dean woke early, the sounds of a rumbling thunder penetrating the fog in his brain. "More rain." he said softly. Sam's head turned on the pillow and his face crinkled into a scowl. The thunder rumbled again and Sam sat upright on the bed with a gasp. "Hey, hey. It's alright Sammy. It's just the rain."

"Thunder?"

"Yep. Remember what I used to tell you?"

"'S just a noise?"

"That's right. And?"

"Noises can't hurt me." Sam said, flinching once more as lightening brightened the early morning sky, thunder following closely on it's heels.

"Come on midget, let's get some breakfast. You'll forget all about noises."

"Lucky Charms?"

"There's some left."

"Enough for both of us?"

"Dunno. Come on." Dean led the way to the kitchen feeling Sam's hand grip his shirt as the thunder rolled across the sky again. He slowed his walk and let Sam hang on.

He soon had Sam sitting at the table and had the last of the cereal in a smaller bowl in front of Sam. The last of the milk went over the cereal. Dean settled for another glass of water and some toast with butter on it.

"We have to go to the store." Dean said, speaking more to himself than to Sam.

"We'll wait until the rain stops right?"

"We can wait until the thunder stops, but I don't think the rain is supposed to stop for a few days."

Sam finished his breakfast and moved to the living room. He reached for the book he'd forgotten last night and settled back onto the floor in the same position, scooting backwards until his legs were tucked under the table, his sock feet kicking the front of the couch this time. His attention was soon captivated by the book about wild animals.

Dean sat on the couch and watched the window absently, wondering what his dad was hunting. Wondering if he was okay. Time passed for the brothers in companionable silence, Dean watching the weather outside, and Sam so lost in the big book that he never heard the thunder as it continued to rumble and eventually fade. At nearly four p.m. Dean finally nudged him with a boot.

"Dude, get your shoes. Time to go." Sam stood and pulled on his worn sneakers. Dean helped him into a light jacket and patted his own pocket to make sure the money was still there. He grabbed Sam's hand and led the way out of the apartment, looking around warily before locking the door behind them and leading the way down the block to the small convenience store. He led Sam through the rain spotted doors, brushing damp hair back before he ruffled Sam's and laughed when the water flew.

"De-ean!" Sam whined, shoving at his big brother. Dean chuckled and grabbed a basket, sobering a little as he caught sight of some of the prices.

"Convenience my ass." Dean muttered. "Sammy, keep a hold of my jacket." He grabbed a loaf of bread and placed it in the basket, and then began wandering the aisles, his little brother right behind him. Dean grabbed some oatmeal next, along with a carton of milk and finally some Velveeta cheese.

"Look Dean, fruit rollups!" Sam said, picking up a small, dusty box of the treats. Dean looked at the price and shook his head.

"We don't have the money Sammy. You gotta put 'em back."

"Okay." Sam said, slowly putting the box back. It fell from the shelf, hitting hard at the corner. The seal busted and the rolls of fruit goo poked their way out of the box. Sam quickly stuffed them back in and tucked the box back into the shelf a little more. Dean led Sam to the counter and paid for his purchases, looking up at the man behind the counter with trepidation. Something bothered him about the man.

"Nineteen twenty-five." The older man said, looking down and Dean and Sam. Dean handed him the twenty dollar bill and quickly snatched the offered quarters.

"Let's go Sammy." Dean said, taking the single bag of groceries and tying it shut securely. Dean led him to the door and outside.

"Hey you little thieves, get your scrawny asses back in here!" Dean froze and turned to the man, putting Sam protectively behind him.

"We-we didn't steal anything! We paid you for what we bought!" Dean pushed Sam further back behind him and continued to step back. The man reached down and caught Dean's shoulder, propelling him away from his brother. Sam squealed in fright when the man ripped the pocket of his jacket, and one of the paper wrapped rolls slid to the wet pavement.

"Yeah? What the hell is that?"

"I didn't t-take it. I d-didn't!" Sam cried, tears streaming down his face. The man shoved him, sending him to his hands and knees, the pavement biting deep through the worn thin knees of his pants and bringing blood to his hands. Dean fought to get around the man and winced when he cuffed Dean's right ear hard. Dean felt the heat build up in the tender flesh as he pulled Sam away from the man.

"Get the hell outta here, ya little brats. I catch ya in my store again and you'll pay!" Dean grabbed the still sobbing Sam and the bag of groceries, quickly ushering his limping, crying brother around the back of the store and towards the alley that led to the apartment. The man walked around the store to lean against the wet wall, watching the boys hustle towards the alley. He smiled cruelly, his eyes turning the deepest black.

Dean led Sam to the mouth of the alley, hanging on to his hand comfortingly as Sam fought to control his tears. "I didn't take it Dean. I swear I di'nt." He said on a hitching breath.

"I know Sammy. I know. Let's just get home."

"Not so fast." A voice said. Dean instantly froze as two large men and a skinny woman with tattoos stepped out of the alley. The red headed man, his hair cut into a Mohawk, took a drag from a cigarette before flicking the butt away.

"My, my, my. Aren't you boys just so adorable?" The woman said, stepping up walking around the boys before stopping and running a hand down Sam's cheek, her nail biting into his tearstained face.

"Oww." Sam said, too scared to flinch away.

"Hey!" Dean said stepping between her and his brother. "Leave him the hell alone."

Dean held Sam protectively behind him, Sam burying his face in Dean's jacket.

"Oh look at the tough guy." The other guy, a wiry blonde said as he walked up to Dean, to stare down at him. "Thinks he's he-man."

"Think this is gonna be fun…" The woman said, "What's in the bag cutie?" She asked as she snatched it from Dean's fingers. Her long nails punctured the bag and spilled the contents onto the wet pavement.

"Hey!" Dean cried as he pulled Sam close to him. The Mohawk guy stepped up and smacked Dean hard across his cheek. Dean staggered and fell, knocking Sam to the pavement as his hands slipped off his brother. Sam's head hit the pavement and he jerked dirty hands up to it, curling into a ball to ward off the pain, blood coating his fingers.

"Sam-Sammy!" Dean said, trying to get to his brother. The Mohawk guy again grabbed Dean, this time pulling him further away from Sam and delivering a kick to Dean's ribs. Dean flinched and curled in on himself with a cry. Mohawk reached down and rifled through Dean's pockets after hearing the jangle of change. He came to his feet with ten dollars and three quarters in his hand.

"My turn asshole!" Wiry guy said as he shoved Mohawk out of the way and delivered his own kick to Dean's right knee. Dean gasped as he felt something pull painfully blackness taking over. The woman kneeled down beside Sam and rolled him over, leaning in over him as he watched through bleary eyes that were foggy with pain and damp with rain water and tears.

"Hey little boy. Sammy, that your name right?"

Sam looked up in fear as she pulled something from her red leather jacket pocket. It was a syringe. "You want to feel better? Your head won't hurt anymore. I promise." She cackled as Sam pulled into himself.

"No. N-no."

"Enough!" A voice barked from the darkness of the alley. The three stood instantly, scattering into the night, the blonde stopping quickly to grab the carton of milk. The owner of the voice walked away after black eyes flashed in the dim lighting of the store front. Sam curled into himself, his head pounding, clothing soaking through quickly as the rain began to fall in earnest once more.

"D-de?" Sam said through his tears, his vision darkening as blood mingled with the rainwater beneath his head.

Dean gasped as he found himself waking up, pain stealing his breath and leaving the gray edges around his vision once more. He breathed through it as best he could and his other pains and discomfort made themselves known loudly as the worst pain finally receded. He was soaked through, his jacket, jeans and even his shoes squelching with water as he managed to stand, his legs shaking. He took a step and felt a searing heat work through his right knee, the flesh feeling tight as if swollen. His leg threatened to give out. Dean forgot his pain when his eyes lit on the too still form of his baby brother, shrouded in the darkness of the late evening.

"Sammy!" Dean quickly limped to his brother's side and fell to his knees, shifting as his damaged one protested loudly. "Sam, c'mon, wake up for me Sammy. Please!" Dean said as he gently touched his shoulder, feeling the trembling in his muscles. Sam's wet hair was decorated with blood, the hand that rested lax across the back of his neck also caked with dirt and blood where the rain hadn't washed it away. "Sammy, please." Dean said, working his hand beneath Sam's neck to pull him upright. He caught Sam's lolling head and placed it against his own chest, pulling his hair apart to look through the matted hair and blood to the wound that lurked beneath. Sam whimpered, his head pulling away from Dean as Dean's fingers accidentally brushed the swollen gash.

"Oww." Sam whimpered, tears leaking from his closed eyes.

"Sorry, Sammy. I'm sorry."

"I don't feel good, De." Sam said, turning his head to bury it in Dean's soaked jacket, wiping wetness of one kind off his cheeks and replacing it with rain water.

"'K, Sammy. We just gotta work together to get home. Can ya stand?"

"Head h-hur's." Sam slurred, as Dean pulled him to his feet. He sobbed once. "I want daddy Dean."

"I know Sammy. He's not here right now though." Dean said softly, his pain hazy eyes welling with unwanted moisture. He blinked it away. "Come on. Let's go home."

Sam leaned against Dean, shivers wracking his small frame. Dean's knee protested and he shifted to compensate both Sam's weight and his pain. Dean stooped and picked up the torn bag of groceries, seeing just the cheese remaining inside the drenched, torn plastic. He stuffed the pack of cheese into his pocket, his eyes falling to take in the torn open loaf of bread that was scattered on the pavement, the slices soaking up water and turning into shapeless white mush. Sam's dragging feet bumped the cardboard can of oatmeal, the water swollen seams separating to spill the flakes into a puddle of water. Dean held Sam's lagging form closer and they limped slowly through the alley to the back of the apartment.

Dean lowered Sam to the couch and pulled his jacket of gently, removing his sodden shirt as well. Sam began to shiver in earnest as Dean wrapped a threadbare blanket around Sam's small shoulders. Dean saw the bruising, stark against Sam's pale flesh and anger spiked through the eleven year old. "'M gonna get you some clean pj's Sammy. Just stay put." Dean said as he stepped back and limped from the room, his knee hurting badly. He grabbed Sam's black and blue checkered pajamas that he'd discarded the night before last and Dean walked slowly out of the bedroom and back into the living room, one hand clutching at his ribs, the other clutching the soft flannel material of the pajamas. "Here ya go Sammy. Help me getcha changed." Sam sat huddled on the couch, blanket around his shoulders. He made the barest moves to help Dean change him out of his wet pants and into the warm flannel. Dean groaned as he stooped to pick up the pile of sodden clothing. Sam's eyes lifted to his.

"You hurt Dean?" Sam asked, tears welling in his eyes as his lower lip trembled.

"Jus' a little sore. Don't worry about it. I gotta getcha cleaned up now Sam." Dean said as he limped slightly to the bathroom, hiding his pain well from Sam until he knew he was out of sight. Dean stood in front of the water spotted bathroom mirror and lifted his own sodden shirt, seeing the vivid bruising that crept up his right side, vaguely resembling a boot print. He touched it gingerly, vision blacking out as pain rocked through him. Dean stumbled and grasped the edge of the sink to keep from hitting the floor until the dizziness faded. He put his right foot up on the closed lid of the toilet and lifted his jeans, pulling them up to above his knee and wincing in pain when the tight, wet material scuffed across swollen flesh and more livid bruising. He left his pants pulled up and put his foot on the floor, flexing his knee. He gasped and pulled in a ragged breath until the pain began to fade once more into the background. Dean shook himself and reached under the sink, pulling out the smaller medical kit that their father had left when he took the large one on the hunt with him.

_Dad, I really wish you were here. I hurt so bad. Sammy hurts. _Dean snorted bitterly, lost in his thoughts. _I'll die before I can't take care of him though._

Dean turned from the bathroom after pulling down his pant leg and walked back to the living room, finding Sam slumped on the couch and shivering. "Sammy?" Dean put the med kit on the wobbly coffee table and touched Sam's shoulder. Sam whimpered and tried to pull away before his eyes snapped open. Tears welled in the blue green depths before he finally looked and actually saw Dean.

"Hey Sammy, it's okay. I gotta get your head cleaned up. Okay?"

"Hurts."

"I'll make it better."

"I wish daddy was here."

_I do too._ Dean took an alcohol wipe from the kit and opened the foil wrapper, unfolding the tiny towelette. He gently cleaned dirt and blood from Sam's hair before reaching for another wipe to part the brown locks to clean the wound, a cut in his scalp about an inch and a half long. Dean stifled a gasp as he felt something shift painfully in his chest and bring tears to his eyes, his stomach churning from the pain. Sam winced as the alcohol burned and the wipe seemed to catch briefly on something beneath Sam's hair just above the now clean cut. Dean smeared some antibiotic ointment on the wound, giving it some protection from infection.

"I'm tired Dean."

"Okay kiddo. Curl up and get some sleep. You sure you don't hurt anywhere else?"

"Jus' m'head." Sam said tiredly as he lay down against the arm of the couch, careful of his head, and curled his knees to his chest, his small form only filling one cushion. Dean looked at Sam's closed eyes before he stooped to gather up the med kit and used supplies, barely stifling a gasp of pain as he stood upright and pain lanced through his torso. He limped to the bathroom once more, stripping out of his own wet clothing and climbing into the shower. He turned on the water as warm as he could stand and stepped under the spray, sighing in relief as it worked it's way down his body, taking grime with it down the drain and warming him. He looked at the bruising on his knee and his ribs, taking in the swelling and the vivid swirls of blackpurplebluegreenyellow. He stepped from the shower, his hand quickly catching the rim of the tub as his knee threatened to buckle. He wrapped a towel around his waist and pulled another around his shoulders, shivering slightly as he walked to the bedroom for some dry, warm clothing.

Changing into a black tee shirt and blue sweats, Dean made his way slowly to the kitchen and opened the freezer to remove some ice from the tray there. He wrapped it in a stained towel and moved to the ratty armchair near the couch. He started to sit down when pain again lanced through his body going from his knee all the way to his head after bouncing through the bruised tissues of his chest. Dean fought to catch his breath as he leaned back against he chair to take some of the strain off his ribs. Sam shifted and whimpered in his sleep on the couch.

"It's okay kiddo. 'm right here." Dean whispered just loud enough for it to penetrate Sam's mind and soothe him. Any louder and Dean was afraid the pain he couldn't keep out of his voice would wake Sam. Dean gained control of his breathing and his eyelids drooped, allowing him to find some relief in sleep.

The next day found more of the same, rain outside pouring from the heavens, pattering over the metal roof of the apartment, slowly soaking into the already sodden ground, running out of the leaky gutter in streams. Dean woke, working the kinks out of his neck with an audible snap. He felt a spike of nausea work its way through him and he stilled, a hand going to his ribs. They didn't hurt as bad as last night, just more of an unrelenting dull ache. Dean looked at his brother to see a pair of blue green eyes blinking up at him from a pale face. "Mornin' Sammy. Ya feelin' any better?"

"Little. Head still hurts." Sam said, reaching a fist up to rub at his tired eyes. "I'm a little hungry Dean."

"I'll make ya some breakfast." Dean said, standing slowly from the chair, his sore knee stiff from disuse. He padded with a slight limp to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He saw that there was no milk left and the memory of the alley last night slammed into him once more. "Oh no."

"What is it Dean?" Dean jumped at the sound of Sam's voice, quickly shutting the fridge door.

"Nothin' Sammy. Whatcha want for breakfast?"

"We don't have much, do we?" Sam asked somberly, his young mind picking up on Dean's distress with ease. Dean shook his head, looking at the floor.

"No, kid. Not much. No money either. Think I felt the asshole in my pocket last night. Got some cheese and maybe the bread is still good."

"Toasted cheese?" Sam asked hopefully. Sam went to the table and sat down while Dean quickly browned two slices of bread and put a single slice of cheese between, allowing it to melt in the slow heat of the pan. He slid the sandwich onto a plate and put it in front of Sam beside a glass of water. Sam ripped the warm, gooey sandwich in half and put half in Dean's hand. "Eat breakfast with me Dean."

"Sammy…"

"Please?"

Dean took a bite of the sandwich, his stomach rumbling with pleasure.

After the meager breakfast, Sam hopped down off the chair and made his way back to the couch. Dean turned on the TV low and once again the boys watched Thundercats. It was a quiet afternoon with Sam dozing off and on and Dean rubbing at his ribs absently. In the evening Sam woke, his blue green eyes bright as they looked at Dean. Sam tracked Dean with his eyes somewhat unfocused as Dean paced slowly to the window to watch the road that lead to the apartment building. Sam's eyes closed again, dark lashes resting in crescents against his pale cheeks, the tips of those lashes just caressing the high spots of color forming on his cheekbones.

Just after eleven p.m. Dean jumped awake at the sounds of thunder crashing through the heavens and shaking the walls of the apartment. A whimper sounded out from the couch and Dean's wide eyes shifted to Sam, who was tossing and turning on the couch, the cover over him twisted. Sam's hair was matted to his forehead, framing a pale face with spots of bright red color on his cheeks. The thunder sounded again, just on the heels of a bright flash of lightening and Sam flinched, his head working on the pillow. His eyes opened, too bright and unfocused. Dean was on his feet instantly, hovering over Sam.

"D-de?"

"Hey little dude. You don't feel good do ya?"

"'M cold."

"I figured." Dean said, walking from the room into the bathroom. He ran the water in the sink until it cooled a bit and held a washcloth under the trickle. He wrung out the excess water and returned to the living room. Dean sat on the edge of the couch, wincing as his ribs protested. He brushed the cloth over Sam's forehead, wiping his sopping hair back from his face. Sam whimpered and tried to push away. "Shh, Sammy. It's okay. It'll help." Dean folded the cloth over Sam's forehead and went to the kitchen, running some cool water into a plastic cup. He grabbed the Tylenol from the counter and went back to Sam's side and helped him sit up. "Here Sammy, ya need some water." Dean said after putting a pill between his lips. Sam took two sips before he pushed away, laying back against he arm of the couch. He winced as the wound on his head touched the coarse fabric.

"Sam, let me see your head."

" 'tired Dean."

"You're sick, Sammy. I need to make sure it's not the wound."

"'kay." Dean checked the wound, his ribs protesting as Sam sagged against his chest. Dean could feel the heat coming off his brother and it worried him. He checked the wound to find it still clean, the edges not red, but the pink of healing flesh.

Sam groaned and allowed Dean to lay him back against the couch, putting a pillow gingerly beneath his head once more. "Get some sleep Sammy. I'm here."

Tired green eyes stared out the window, gazing at the gray day as it dawned. Rain poured from the heavens, creating a constant pitter-patter of sounds on the roofing of the latest motel they were staying in.

Dean Winchester was waiting. He was waiting for his father to return from his latest hunt. One week had passed since John had disappeared to a nearby town to hunt a poltergeist, the black Impala driving through the worsening storm.

Sighing, the eleven-year-old stepped down from the seat at the window, turning back into the run-down living room of the apartment they were staying in. His younger brother's teal eyes stared into his own green ones, tears leaking from them and trailing down his slightly chubby face.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean spoke as he limped over to his younger brother. When Sam's lips quivered in response, Dean sat down on the couch that had seen better days. He pulled Sam close to him, running a hand through the boy's shaggy brown hair.

"W-when's Daddy coming home?" came the quiet words from the seven-year-old. "I hurt."

Smiling sadly at Sam, Dean wondered the same thing. "I don't know Sammy. Soon. I know you hurt, by Dad's gonna be here soon, and he'll fix everything, 'kay?"

Sam nodded, the tears that were threatening to fall, sloshing around in his eyes. Seeing the liquid in his brother's eyes, Dean felt anger override all sadness and pain running through him.

He was angry at the shopkeeper for thinking that Sammy was trying to steal. He was angry at the drug addicts outside the store for hurting his brother, and he was angry at his father for not being there for them when they needed him.

The two boys sat in the living room, cuddled close together, wounds hurting, staring out the window as the storm continued to rage on outside.

The two boys waited. Dean slept off and on after spending the night awake, keeping alert for changes in his brother. Sam slept, only slightly restless as the fever remained too high for Dean's liking. _Anything over normal is too high for my liking._ He woke, jarring himself awake as Sam started making choking sounds. He looked down to see Sam's eyes wide open, unfocused and scared. "Hey Sammy…" Sam fought his way free of Dean's arms and raced for the bathroom, his fever making him unsteady as the heat poured from him. He fell to his knees in front of the bowl and began to retch. Dean leaned down, groaning and stopping quickly as his ribs screamed and agony surged through him. He fought to catch his breath holding his arm tight to his ribs. Dean breathed through the pain and leaned down more to soothe Sam. He finally settled and sagged back against Dean. Dean felt the heat coming through the back of Sam's damp pajama shirt.

_I gotta get him cooled down. What's making him sick? _"Heya Sammy, you feelin' better right now?"

"I don' feels'good."

"I know, I know." Dean said, rubbing circles on the back of Sam's neck as he leaned into Dean rubbing his head against Dean's sweat clad thigh. Dean winced audibly when Sam's head rubbed against the bruises at his knee.

"De?" Sam questioned, raising his bleary eyes to those of his brother.

"'S nothin'." Dean hauled Sam to his feet and caught his brother as he wavered. Sam's bent elbow plowed into Dean's right side and Dean doubled over, nearly dropping Sam as the breath flew from his lungs. Dean managed to blink away the rapidly dancing gray spots and keep both Sam and himself upright. He guided Sam to the sink and helped him rinse his mouth before leading him back to the couch. Dean concentrated on breathing through the pain as he lowered Sam down and then took the glass of lukewarm water and allowed Sam a sip to swallow a single Tylenol. Dean placed the washcloth back on his forehead and gingerly poured some water from the glass into the damp fabric, cooling it off. "Sleep Sammy. 'M gonna call Josh."

"Uncle Josh 's comin'?"

"I hope so."

Dean limped slowly to the kitchen where he saw the phone hanging on the wall like a life line. He reached for it, hearing the dial tone loud in his ears before he even held the phone up. He punched the buttons quickly, the number he'd forced himself to memorize sounding out across his mind like a mantra. _Please Josh. We need you._ Dean thought as he listened to the phone ringing.

"_This is Joshua. Leave a contact number and I'll get back to ya."_

_No, no,no._ Dean thought. "J-josh, it's Dean. Sammy an' I, somethin' happen'd and Sammy's sick. I tried ta take care a him an'…" tears welled in Dean's eyes "…an I'm h-hurt, I think. Please…Uncle Josh…dad's on a hunt…" Dean heard the message tone beep saying he'd been cut off. A tear worked it's way down his cheek before his breath caught painfully and he pulled the receiver from his ear.

"_Dean?! Dean kiddo ya there?!"_

"Uncle Josh?"

"_Thank god. Dean, what happened kid? How bad're you hurt?"_

"We- Dad left for a hunt and we ran outta food. Was goin' to get some and these jerks were outside the store. Druggies. They hurt Sammy, his head. Kicked me…hurts Josh. Somethin's wrong with Sammy an' I don't know what. He's--fever an' he's sick."

"_Alright kiddo. I'm on my way. Didja get some Tylenol into Sammy?"_

"Y-yeah."

"_What about you?"_

"I will."

"_Okay. Your dad told me where ya both were. I can be there in an hour or so. I'm on my way Dean."_

Josh broke the connection but not before Dean heard his big truck's engine fire up. Dean breathed a sigh of relief. Remembering his promise, Dean went back into the living room and stooped to pick up the bottle of Tylenol from the table. His chest tightened and pain rocked him to his core as something shifted painfully in his torso. His breath left in a whoosh and the bottle of pills dropped from lifeless fingers. Dean felt bile flood the back of his throat and he turned, going to the bathroom as fast as his pain riddled body would move. He fell to his knees as his legs gave out, his previous injuries screaming as the impact jarred both his knee and his ribs. The bile forced it's way further into his mouth and he retched. His abdominal muscles cramped and spasmed and Dean swore he felt bones grinding together along his right side. He moaned as his vision turned gray at the edges and he continued to heave unmercifully.

Dean fought to pull in a breath that wouldn't be caught and his vision went from grayto black. He slumped to the cold tile of the small bathroom, knocking his head off the base of the toilet as he landed. Blood coated the corner of the dingy white porcelain and the grayish linoleum as Dean lay still.

***

Forty five minutes later Josh pulled up to the run down apartments that John had said they were living at. He was out of the truck, not seeing the big black Impala anywhere. His thoughts turned stormy. _What the hell kinda father leaves two little kids alone in a friggin dump like this and with no food at that? John you sonuvabitch. I swear to god one of these days I'm gonna pump your ass fulla lead. _Josh knocked on the door, not wanting to scare Dean.

***

Sam woke to hear the rumble of an engine that sounded vaguely familiar to his ears. He felt sweat trickling down the back of his neck even as he shivered. "De?" He croaked, his throat sore from the heat of the fever drying it out. "Daddy's here." Sam whispered, sitting up on the couch and kicking the covers off, looking in the direction of the armchair with over bright eyes. "Dean?" Sam questioned when he didn't see his brother who'd done nothing but stay in the room with him since he got sick. Sam stood from the couch, his legs shaking and small frame wobbly. "Find Dean. Daddy'll make us better." Sam said, reaching out a clammy, shaky hand as he stumbled around the coffee table and headed in the direction of the bedroom where he thought maybe Dean had laid down to get some proper sleep. Sam leaned his shaking body against the doorway of the bedroom, seeing the full size bed, empty.

"Dean?" Sam questioned again, a little louder. "Bathroom." He said, turning to walk towards the other small room near the back of the apartment. Sam vaguely heard the soft knock on the door, stopping until he decided to find Dean so Dean could help him bring stuff in from the car.

"Dean, Daddy's home .His hands are full of stuff. Can't open the door." Sam stopped, again the dizziness that came with the fever making him lean against the door to remain upright. His eyes fell on Dean, in the bathroom.

Sam screamed.

***

Joshua heard a high pitched wail come from somewhere at the back of the apartment and he reacted, slamming a heavy size eleven boot into the cheap wooden door. The jamb splintered and the door crashed open on the first kick. Josh saw the unbroken salt line that lay just inside and bolted over it when he heard another cry come from the back of the rooms.

"_DEANIE!" _

Josh ran through the rooms, the smell of sickness getting stronger as he reached the back bedrooms, hearing sobbing becoming louder as he bypassed them and headed for the last room down the hall, the bathroom. He blasted through the open door to find his boys on the cold tile. Sam was hunched over Dean, sobbing, holding a washcloth to Dean's forehead where his head rested at an awkward position at the base of the toilet. Blood smeared the dirty looking porcelain and fear streaked through Josh.

"Sammy?" The youngster looked up at the sound of the familiar voice, tears swimming in his too bright eyes and cascading down his cheeks.

"'ncle Josh," Sam sobbed, "Deanie won'wakeup!" Josh hit his knees beside the children and pulled Sammy to him.

"I'm here now Sammy. It's okay tiger, ya did good. Ya did good. Lemme take a look at Deanie huh?" Josh gently pried Sam's fingers from the washcloth that was soaking up Dean's blood, his close proximity to the boy allowing him to feel the fevered heat radiating off Sam, allowed him to see the high red color in an otherwise bloodless face. "Easy kiddo. Just lean against me okay. I'm gonna take a look at Dean." Sam did as he was told and leaned against Joshua's side, rubbing his forehead against the older hunter's shoulder. Josh felt heat and sweat soak through the two shirts he was wearing and his anger towards John Winchester grew tenfold. He pushed it down and gently shifted Dean so that he was resting on his back, and his head was away from the base of the toilet.

He ghosted Dean for injuries, feeling heat soaking through the leg of his sweats that would indicate the tightness of swelling at the joint of Dean's knee. He saw Dean's chest rise and fall, the hitching rhythm even in sleep, or unconsciousness, letting him know that Dean had some injury to his ribs.

"Sammy, what happened to you and Dean?" Josh asked the child, fighting to keep lethal anger buried beneath his military discipline.

"We ran outta food. Dean took me to get some but the man thought I stoled something. I didn't take it uncle Josh. Deanie told me to put it back and I did. The man yelled at us and we left, then there were these mean people, a lady and a guy with funny hair and another guy and they hurt me. Dean got mad, but they hurt him too and then it was dark and I don't feel good." Sam babbled as Joshua's anger grew.

"Okay Sammy, you and me are gonna take Deanie to the doctor and we're gonna get you both better okay?"

"Deanie said you'd make us better. Deanie said Daddy'd make us better." the youngster nodded, burying his head in Joshua's shoulder once more.

"Okay kiddo. Can you walk to the door and wait for me? I'm gonna pick up your brother."

"'K." Sam stood from his kneel beside Josh and wavered unsteadily on his feet as his face paled impossibly more. "'cle Jos…" Sam slurred just before his eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped, his shoulder hitting Joshua's boot as he went down right next to him.

"Sammy!" Josh cried, bending to scoop up the child into his arms. The heat radiating off his body soaked through Joshua's clothes and brought sweat to his skin. The hunter quickly walked through the apartment, grabbing the blanket from the couch to cover Sam with. Josh stopped as he noticed a peculiar stain on the pillow at the other end. It was a small blotch of red, dried a rusty color and a yellowish cast to a surrounding ring of what had once been fluid. Josh rushed Sam to his big truck and opened the back door, his suspicions telling him to lay Sam on his side. Joshua saw then, the matted hair with the seepage of infection clumping it together. He parted the hair gently at the worst of it and saw a shard of dirty glass sticking deeply in Sam's scalp, surround by swollen red flesh still seeping yellowish pus and blood.

"Oh kiddo. I'm gonna get Dean and I'm gonna get you help." _Then I'm gonna feed your dad to a wendigo… _Joshua rushed back into the house and soon emerged with a slightly feverish Dean in his arms, the eleven year old feeling lighter than the hunter remembered.

"Dean?" Josh spoke as he sat Dean gently in the passenger seat of the big truck, carefully positioning him to keep pressure off both his ribs and his knee. Josh tapped Dean on the cheek, cupping a calloused hand to the childlike smoothness, feeling the building heat. "Dean, hey kiddo?"

"Mmn," Dean mumbled as his eye lids fluttered, finally opening to hazy slits of green. "J-Josh?" Dean said a little breathlessly. Josh ducked his head at the same time he gently lifted Dean's chin, searching for signs of concussion. He breathed a sigh when Dean's eyes cleared slightly and met his, equal and reactive as Dean focused on him.

"Oh, hey kid. I'm gonna get you and Sammy to a hospital. How bad did those punks hurt ya?" At the spike of fear that shown from Dean's eyes Josh softened his voice. "Sammy told me what happened Dean. It's okay. Ya did good."

Dean felt a tear he couldn't stop work it's way down his cheek. "T-they kicked me, Sammy hit his head. Sammy! He's so sick Josh." Dean's breathing hitched and he tried to turn around in the seat to see his little brother in the back. He groaned and stopped, sagging against Josh as he lost his breath, wheezing slightly. Josh settled Dean back against the seat, running a hand through his short hair. He shut the door and ran around the front of the truck. Getting in he adjusted the rearview mirror to see little Sammy in the back and he shifted the truck, holding on to Dean as he hit the gas and the truck responded with more than it's usual big block power.

***

A blindingly bright light shot through the house as John finished the last of the cleansing to banish the poltergeist. He stood from his crouched position and lowered his shielding arm from his eyes. John groaned as he stood, his aches from numerous times of meeting walls, at the mercy of the spirit, catching up with him. _I finally can get back to my boys._ It had been a long week, a tiring hunt, trying to find what was keeping the poltergeist attached to the house. Finally after not finding anything, John decided just to cleanse the entire house as Missouri had taught him so many years ago.

"_So I can use bags of dirt and flowers to knock an evil out of a house?" John had asked her as she stood over him, telling him what to put inside the small leather pouches. He rolled his eyes as the smell of pungent herbs assaulted his nostrils._

"_Boy, this is serious business. Don't make me whack you with a spoon!" She huffed, planting her hands on her ample hips and glaring at John even as a smile teased her lips. She walked around the table, huffing good naturedly. She sat at the comfortable chair there and faced him, folding her hands onto the table top. "Now, once you have the bags made, then you put them in the North, South, East, West corners on all the floors. Last bag, shield your eyes and keep your mouth closed."_

John shook himself from his memory and gathered his duffel and the shot gun, heading out of the house. He climbed into the Impala, his body protesting as he began the long trip back to his boys.

***

Joshua was stopped by a nurse as his "nephews" were whisked behind the red doors of the emergency room and into separate trauma rooms. The last thing he heard was the harried voice of a doctor and the words "He's seizing!" Josh stepped out of the waiting room and onto a small balcony that offered the solace of a place for him to force his hands to stop shaking, and dry his watery eyes by focusing on the view of the neighborhood park. He pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through the contact list, hitting the button once he got to the name he wanted. His teeth clicked together as his jaw muscle ticked beneath his skin in time with the ringing tone.

"_Winchester?"_

"Johnny, you are one dumb, sorry sonuvabitch."

"_What the hell? Josh?"_

"Where are you John?" Josh asked almost sweetly.

"_Just finished a hunt. Goin' home to the boys. And you still didn't…"_

Josh cut him off, "I'm with the boys."

"_What?! Why?!" _

"Dean called me."

"_Joshua, what the hell happened to my son?!"_

"SONS, John. You have TWO sons, you bastard. Right now they're both in Mercer Memorial. Trauma rooms."

"_What?!"_

Josh told John about receiving the call from Dean and how he found the boys and after getting John's promise that he's on his way, Josh hung up the phone and headed back in to wait on word about the boys he loved like his own sons. Josh sat down in one of the most uncomfortable plastic waiting room chairs he'd ever sat on in the long history of hospital chair occupation. He leaned forward and put his elbows on his thighs, staring at the speckled pattern of the tile between his booted feet. He was counting spots, lost count and started again when he heard the hurried clomp of boot treads and John Winchester's voice.

"Josh, the boys, my boys?"

The military man stood from the chair, his fingers curling into tight fists. "You take off to god knows where and leave those boys by themselves in some fuckin' shabby apartment. No food, little money. Dean does what the hell he knows how to do, better than you I might add, and takes care of his baby brother. What the hell's it get 'em? Beat to hell! I swear to god, John, you won't start takin' care of those boys, THEN I WILL!" Josh said his piece, all without even catching the attention of the nurse manning the station. John shook.

"What?" He asked quietly.

"The boys. Dean took Sammy out to get some food and they got mugged John. Dean got kicked in the ribs and Sammy got a cut on his head. It's infected badly John. Dean called me and I found him unconscious in the bathroom on the floor. Sammy was packin' a fever high enough to make him pass out an' Dean's knee and chest are messed up. Sammy said druggies beat him and Dean." John sank into a chair next to where Joshua was standing as if his knees were cut out from under him. He leaned forward and ran a calloused hand down over his stubble covered face.

"I hurt my boys. Again." Josh sat down on the chair he'd vacated not that long ago and leaned toward John, putting his elbows back on his knees and running a hand over the back of his neck, his camouflage shirt rustling slightly.

"John, ya thought they'd be okay."

"Family of Sam and Dean Lawson?" a doctor said as he came through the red doors. John jumped and stood at the sound of the voice, Joshua following suit.

"I'm their father. How are my boys?"

"The youngest, Samuel, had a febrile seizure due to the high fever. It's under control now and he's responding to the antibiotic well. We removed a piece of dirty glass from his scalp, which had caused the infection."

"And Dean?" Josh asked. The doctor cast his gaze over the man who had brought the boys in, the uncle. "Dean was also developing a fever. He has two cracked ribs and some deep internal bruising, luckily with no internal bleeding. We're monitoring him for a very slight concussion. Both boys were slightly dehydrated, but we're taking care of it." The doctor cleared his throat. "We need to know what happened to these boys."

"They were playing. We live at the apartments. I went to answer the phone and the roughhousing started. They both got the best of each other and didn't tell me. I figured it out when Sammy and Dean started getting sick. I'm kicking myself for not watching them better. I'm just so glad they're gonna be okay." Joshua said, putting a reassuring hand on John's shoulder as the man stared hard at the tile floor. "I don't watch them much and they run circles around me."

"And where were you?" The doctor asked John.

"I was working out of town." the doctor nodded. "When can we see my sons?"

"I'll have a nurse come to get you."

Five minutes later John and Joshua were in a single room with two beds and two small bodies resting on them. Both were pale, nasal cannula running beneath their noses. "Aw, boys…" John said, walking between the beds and reaching a long arm out to touch both boys, Dean on the cheek and Sammy on the shoulder." A set of green eyes opened and Dean looked up at his dad.

"Dad, you're back." Dean near whispered around a raspy throat. Josh quickly poured a little water into a cup and bent a straw to Dean's lips. He sipped at the water and allowed it to soothe his throat.

"Sammy's sick. I'm sorry Dad, I letcha down a'gin." Dean slurred slightly, his eyes heavy.

"Shh, shh. Sammy's gonna be fine. So are you. Just rest Dean. Daddy's here now." John said, turning fully to Dean and running a gentle hand back through his short hair. His eyes drifted closed, a small smile tipping his lips up at the corners.

"Daddy?" A small voice said from behind John, causing him to whip around.

"Oh, hey big boy."

"Deanie, Daddy's here. He's gonna make us better now. Just like you said." Sam said, turning his face into John's hand as bleary blue green eyes looked over his sleeping brother.

**Thanks again, and there's more coming up from the others. Please enjoy!**


	16. Bait

**Title: Bait**

**Summary: Young males die mysteriously in the school Sam and Dean are enrolled into. Looks like an angry spirit, a simple salt and burn at best, but Sam and Dean find out that some people don't become angry spirits for the traditional reasons. **

**Warnings: This story deals with assault. It is best intended for a mature reader. **

**A/N I've never written anything like this before. Ever. In fact, it's my first story that goes with a warning. But the point of the writing activity is to get us to write outside our comfort zone and I gotta tell you, this story was definitely not in my comfort zone. For that reason, I want to thank Soncnica for spurring my imagination with the scene she sent me from the cemetery. I hope I've done that justice. Dianne**

**XXXX**

The Impala pulled up to Northington High School, Dean behind the wheel and Sam in the passenger side. Sam grabbed his book bag and opened the creaky door. Dean hesitated.

"This bites," he mumbled.

"Well, you're almost ready to graduate, Dean, you might as well get it over with. It's only another two more months."

"Yeah, but who the hell starts a new school two months before graduation?" Dean asked.

"Us," Sam replied, shaking his head at the unfairness of it all. Sam figured that by the end of morning classes, he'd find Dean sitting in the car, like he had so many times before when they started new schools. It wasn't that Dean wasn't smart, quite the contrary, and it wasn't that he didn't fit in; his good looks pretty much guaranteed an instant girlfriend. But Dean had never been happy with school.

"Be out here by three," Dean ordered. "I mean it, Sam, I don't want to have to wait."

They already had their timetables and knew where their lockers were. For once their father enrolled them properly, taking the time to tour the school, meet the principal and some of the staff. Which was another reason Dean didn't feel good about this school. He knew a reconnaissance mission when he saw one and he spent the night arguing with his dad that Sam shouldn't go to a school where a possible hunt would be focused. The only concession he got to his argument was that he could inform Sam what was happening at the high school so he could be on his guard. And that concession had been hard won, because the four boys, who died over the last two years, were Dean's age.

"And, Sam, be careful, okay?" Dean said.

Sam leaned in as they entered the school, ready to separate into different corridors. "The victims have all been nearing eighteen, it's you who needs to be careful. And Dean? Maybe this time you shouldn't get a girlfriend. You should pay attention and stay on your guard."

"Sammy," Dean said, hand over his heart, "You wound me. I can go without the ladies, but you know, the ladies can't go without me."

Sam rolled his eyes and tried to smile. Reading someone like a book wasn't just Dean's talent. Besides, Sam heard the arguments between Dean and his dad. Dean wanted to stay in their last school for senior prom. Sam couldn't believe his ears when he heard that argument a week ago, Dean actually wanted to stay with one girl in particular at least until the end of twelfth grade. He'd been turned down flat. The hunt came first.

XXXX

Dean couldn't concentrate on his work in math class. The teacher, Mr. Jemica chalked it up to nerves from being in a new school. He asked Dean to stay after class. Dean glanced at his watch, willing to stay only for a few minutes because he needed to get to the cafeteria and make sure Sam wasn't being treated to the _new guy _horrors from other students.

"Look, Mr. Winchester, I realize that it can't be easy to be in a new school so close to graduation, what with trying to pick a college and trying to make new friends, so I just wanted you to know that I'll be around after school in room five where I run a homework club and give extra help to anyone struggling or just getting ready for finals."

_College? _Surely Dean hadn't heard the man right. He'd never considered college, hell he hadn't even considered finishing high school until dad told him in no uncertain terms that he was. College was Sam's thing.

"Uh, yeah, thanks, Mr. Jemica, I'll keep that in mind," Dean lied, eyes widening as his breath swirled in the air, a sudden chill having come from nowhere.

Jemica's back was turned as he jotted down the homework club times and dates. Dean made a mental note to come back to this room to check it out.

XXXX

Dean sat with Sam in the cafeteria for a few minutes before they decided to eat lunch in the car so they could talk without being overheard.

"There's definitely something in the senior math room," Dean said between mouthfuls of tuna sandwich.

"Makes sense," said Sam, "the teacher who was raped and left murdered in the alley behind the school was the math teacher, Clarry Hopkins."

"You found that out in one morning?"

"Yeah, and the guy who did it, Jerry Birk, was a student here, senior year, two months before graduating. He's been given twenty years for the crime."

"Yeah, dad knew that and on the day he was sentenced, the last victim, a Greg Chalmers was killed, listed as accidental slipping on the tiles in the boys' showers.

Sam and Dean talked until the bell signaled afternoon classes. Dean slouched off and Sam walked enthusiastically toward the science lab.

XXXX

Dean wanted to go the library after a boring day of classes about as much as he wanted to do laundry but he knew Sam was right, they had to do some research.

Dean's stomach growled as he and Sam looked through two-year-old microfilm from when the murder happened. Sam saw a pattern right away.

"The first guy killed was Toby Stock, just turned eighteen, had a football scholarship, a girlfriend and summer job lined up, yet his death was listed as suicide. But look, the date of his death matches the date that Jerry Birk entered a plea of not guilty."

Some more digging revealed that the other two victims both died on dates when something significant happened in the trial of Jerry Birk. A car in front of the school killed Mark Laidman on the day the DA was turned down by the judge to try Jerry Birk as an adult. Carl Vark died of severe burns when a Bunsen Burner spewed fire and gas at him. On that day, Birk was convicted for the first time but granted an appeal.

"So, it's pretty clear we're dealing with an angry spirit and the most logical is Clarry Hopkins. She's mad at young men and she takes it out on them every time she perceives that Birk is catching a break in court."

"Bingo," Dean said. "Now let's get something to eat, talk to dad, salt and burn this bitch and then blow this town."

"Dean, you can't go to another school two months to grad. Just finish it up and be done with it. Tell dad you did what he wanted in coming here when you wanted to stay at Ridley…"

"You were listening?"

"Yeah, sorry. You should have argued harder, Dean. You deserved to graduate there where you had a few friends and Cheryl."

"Cheryl wasn't … I wasn't attached to Cheryl," Dean stammered. "I was just worried about you. I know you liked it there."

"Okay, Dean, have it your way. Go with what dad says even if he's put you here as bait."

"Dad did not put me here as bait, Sam. Get that? I want this. This is what we do."

XXXX

John wasn't at the hotel they checked into a few days ago. Dean and Sam ordered in and started talking about the suspect in the rape and murder of the teacher.

"I wonder why the spirit never went after Birk," Sam asked.

"Well, it's not like they're in their right mind. She was a victim, we can't forget that but we still need to salt and burn the bitch's bones. She's killing guys for no reason. Now personally, I'd have no problem with her killing Birk."

At that moment the phone rang. It was John.

"Listen, Dean, I'm in Ellieville. I was talking with Birk's mother, posing as a liaison between the young offender unit of the jail and home. Birk was attacked in his new cell as soon as he was moved after sentencing. I need you to salt and burn the bones of Clarry Hopkins. Tonight. Do it tonight, Dean, take Sam to help. Don't get caught. I'll be back when I can." And he hung up without another word.

Dean sat back and took another leisurely bite of his pizza. It was still daylight, there would be no reason to check out the math room further, the spirit should be gone by tomorrow and if in the meantime, Clarry got to finish off her attacker, well good. As long as she didn't go after anyone else.

Dean filled Sam in on the orders. Sam was amazed at how easy it was for Dean to not question, to just do what he was told, but Sam was also relieved. He feared for Dean at the new school and hated the way their dad dangled him like fresh meat to this deranged spirit.

XXXX

Arriving at the cemetery late into the night, Dean dropped their bags on the ground, making a loud clanging sound that made Sam sigh and hope no one in the neighboring area heard them. Sam just wanted to get this over with; he had a calculus test in the morning.

The grave was just like every other grave, dark and damp. A hole in the ground where someone was buried. But that never freaked Dean out. People die, they get buried, end of story. And then there are exceptions. Like this woman, who never found peace. Who could blame her? Dean sighed and pushed the shovel deeper into the almost frozen earth. Winter was around the corner, sneaking in slowly but surely.

"I'll dig, you man the flashlight."

"Gladly."

Sam's hand was still in a cast from a run in with a witch, so digging up a grave would be almost impossible. He was glad that Dean noticed that too because he swore he could tell it was going to rain soon by the dull ache and itch in his fingers.

The first hit of the shovel into the hard ground, Dean knew this would take a while. Digging up a grave, six feet deep was no laughing matter. He shrugged off his jacket, the cold breeze hitting his back and mingling with the sweat from his effort.

Time passed by, shovel hitting the ground, the noise echoing through the place, bouncing off of headstones…no, it wasn't creepy at all.

When Dean was nearly at the casket, only a few more shovels of dirt left to go, he became irritated. He gave Sam one job, a simple one at that and Sam wasn't doing it. So help him, if he caught Sam trying to study under the beam of light he was supposed to be shining on the casket …

"Sam, hold the flashlight steady."

The beam of light danced all over the place, making Dean nervous and a little nauseas. The night was dark, the moon smaller then a cat's eye, and when the soft, dark clouds covered it, the hole was plunged into pitch-blackness. The beam of light made its way to Dean, just before he was about to shout at Sam again.

The shovel was getting heavier and heavier with each deposited heap of earth and his muscles started to pull tight. He would definitely be feeling this in the morning and he knew that the bed at the motel would only make it worse. It was the hardest, most uncomfortable bed he had ever slept in.

"Steady, hold it steady!"

He yelled at his brother, but the beam of almost white light still spasmed all over the dark hole.

"Damn it, Sam, I said hold it steady."

He turned around to look at what Sam was doing when all he saw was the flashlight rolling around the edge of the grave. The wind was strong, winter strong.

"Sam!!!"

His voice boomed through the cemetery, loud enough to raise the dead, but still quiet enough for Sam not to hear it.

"Sammy!!!"

He jumped out of the hole and grabbed the flashlight, illuminating the vast scenery before him. All graves, headstones, trees and no little brother.

"Damn it." He spun around, the beam of the flashlight hitting a tree, but still no Sam.

"Sam!!"

Dean continued to scour the area, the feeble, narrow light penetrating only twenty feet in any direction. There were no drag marks, no footprints leading away.

Dean grabbed his cell phone, fingers shaking from the exertion of digging up the grave and from the shock of Sam's disappearance into thin air. He punched in his dad's number and screamed in frustration at the voicemail. He looked down into the grave, the light catching splintered wood through red clay. If the ghost had Sam, there was an order of things that would have to be followed, no matter how much he wanted to take off blindly searching for him.

XXXX

Sam's chest ached when he awoke in a mausoleum, still burning prayer candles the only illumination flickering off the stained glass fitted into the vaulted ceiling.

"You're a bit younger than I usually like, but you'll do," the spirit, whose picture Sam had seen on her grave marker told him, licking her lips."

Sam tried to hold it together. He searched the cavernous marble interior for Dean.

"Look, Ms. Hopkins, I'm not the one who did this to you …"

The spirit laughed. Sam's eyes widened as she approached. Cold tendrils of pain spiked up the side of Sam's face as she bent to touch him.

"Did to _me? _Oh, you silly males, always wanting to see a damsel in distress. How convenient." The spirit straddled Sam's legs. "Jerry Birk was mine. I chose him. He used to _stay after school a lot,_" she said with a wink of her misshapen eye from the severe beating she took in life. "Until one day when I'd just finished with him he said he wanted me to let him go. Said it was all a mistake, that I was his teacher and should know better. He said if I didn't let him go, he'd tell the police and the school board. I ripped my dress and ran into the alley to play victim, but, well Birk, let's say he panicked. He did this to me. So you see, I am the victim here."

Sam couldn't believe he was hearing a monologue from a ghost. Her icy hands played through his hair, standing the strands on end. He lifted his head up but she pushed it back down. Sam swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. Where was Dean?

XXXX

Dean broke through the last layer of coffin just as rain began to fall. Sam had been right, his achy hand was never wrong, damn it. He struck the match and dropped it on the lighter fluid. It caught feebly. Dean cursed his father once more for not being there to watch his back.

XXXX

"No! Sam screamed as the spirit leaned in to gently caress his cheek. He turned his head to avoid looking into the bulging, webbed eyes that came too close to his. He held his breath and tried to push his head down further, causing a sharp pain from the cold marble under him. A finger parted Sam's lips.

"New. Beautiful." Clarry kissed her own finger and placed it on Sam's lips as Sam tried to clamp his mouth shut not to be touched. Then Clarry flickered.

The ghost suddenly sprang up, standing right in the middle of Sam's chest and feeling like it was going to stop his heart. He gasped at the cold agony as the ghost vanished. He tried to get up, to even roll to his side to let the vomit that had threatened to come out, but he couldn't. The pain took him to blackness.

XXXX

The coffin finally caught fire, flickering and trying to die as it caught on the decaying dress on Hopkin's body. Victim or not, Dean was pissed. No one took his little brother.

Dean was suddenly lifted from his feet. The sensation of being dragged against the wind, upright took his breath away as cold rain stung his face from the speed he was traveling. He flailed against the ghost, kicking at thin air until he slammed through the doors of the mausoleum.

Dean pitched onto the floor next to his little brother, not close enough to touch him, though he tried.

"Sammy?" he wheezed out.

"What did you do to him!" Dean shouted.

"Sam hasn't had the pleasure of my company … yet," replied Hopkins.

"You can't … what?" Dean tried to get up. He was frozen in place, arms and legs splayed.

"It's a shame you weren't around when I was, you know warm. But you can warm me."

Dean's mind reeled but Clarry Hopkins was truly a psychotic bitch.

"I had to kill all the other boys. They were going to tell … I can't have my memory besmirched, loving daughter, devoted wife. Fantastic teacher."

To say he didn't understand was an understatement. What would it matter if some guy said a ghost had taken advantage of him? They'd have locked him away. He voiced this out loud, anything to keep her away from Sam who she kept glancing at, licking her lips.

"Males really are stupid. Those boys were all mine. Jerry Birk had talked them all into going to the police and the school board when his defense attorney contacted them so I killed the four of them. I let my pet, Mark Owen live. He swore he'd keep quiet, once I visited him like this. He warmed me so. Too bad he went a little … you know," the ghost said, twirling her fingers around her head in a crazy gesture.

Well, this explained why their dad was trying to talk to Birk's parents and protect the kid. But did his own kids never come first?

Clarry flickered a bit. He prayed the slow burn on the body would catch stronger and get rid of her soon.

Sam moaned and Clarry glanced at him. She hovered briefly over Sam, caressing his hair, then his chest as if in debate. "I need a man," she said, turning away to sit on Dean's thighs.

Dean's heart beat so fast he could see it through his tee shirt.

"Mmmm, wet tee shirt, even on a guy, gets me every time," Hopkins said appreciatively, slicing through the thin, sodden material with long, sharp fingernails. Goosebumps rippled across Dean's chest that the vain ghost took as a compliment instead of the tremble of revulsion it was.

Dean tried to make his arm obey him, tried to swat her away.

"Don't fight it. Why do you boys always fight it? You know you want it. I'm experienced. Just let it happen. It'll be over a minute, the first time," she giggled hideously. Let me teach you …"

The ghost trailed ice laden kissed down Dean's collar bones.

"Get off me!" Dean yelled, trying to sound brave but dying inside.

"Shh, you'll like it, besides, if you want to keep your brother's virtue in tact, you'll take your lessons. And no talking while I'm teaching."

Dean screamed inside his head. Her words made his blood run as cold as she was. He took her words as the threat they implied. If he didn't co-operate, Clarry would move on to Sam. No way was that happening.

_Please burn, please burn and disappear. No no nononono, I don't want this. Please, please._ Silent tears leaked down Dean's cheeks into his ears. The spirit licked at them, relishing them. She ran a finger down his chest to his navel, tickling over the buckle of his jeans.

The buckle popped open, the ghost sat up straight, straddling him.

"Now, watch this. This is hot. I could never do this when I was alive."

Dean zipper slowly lowered of its own accord.

A sob escaped Dean's throat even as he bit own tongue not to cry out, to save Sam. He closed his eyes and turned away, tried to go somewhere else.

_No, please stop. Don't …_

The ghost lay beside him now, the coldness not taken with her as soon as contact was broken like he'd hoped but he prayed for numbness when she reached down to his inner thigh. Dean's breath caught in his throat and he refused to breathe. She searched, invading and caressing.

"You don't like me," she pouted. "I was pretty before I was betrayed. Close your eyes, Dean."

Dean's eyes were already closed, for all the attention she was paying to that part of his anatomy. Suddenly unbidden visions were stabbed into Dean's thoughts, the face from the newspaper articles of Clarry as she had looked in life, but in private moments, very private moments. An image implanted into Dean's mind, as his eyes were forced open. The weight settled onto his lap settle once again as Clarry straddled him in flimsy lingerie.

"That's better," Clarry stated. Dean hadn't felt his jeans slip to his knees. The marble was cold through his boxers as he blew out a sigh of relief to feel them in place. But the material was thinner, his barrier of thick denim gone as she again searched him, her hands running along his thighs and trailing back to the waistband of his boxers as her hair ticked across his chest. She reached up, cupping his face in her hands as she moved rhythmically, ice filling Dean's entire body.

"Warm me, or I'll take his warmth," Clarry licked her lips toward Sam and turned Dean's tear streaked face toward his innocent little brother who was still unconscious on the floor.

Dean hated himself from the inside out when his eyes checked for a rise and fall of Sam's chest. If Sam was gone, he'd fight harder to get away, but Sam still breathed and it was Dean's job to save him, to shut up so Clarry wouldn't take him instead.

Cold hands left Dean's face as one hand slipped beneath the last shred of his dignity separating him from her. He couldn't help it. He cried out,

"Oh, but you're a virgin aren't you?" Clarry asked, her hand retreating just a bit. "Oh this is just too delicious to rush then." Humiliation rose in Dean's face, he could feel it burn against the cold that had penetrated every fiber of his being.

The waistband of Dean's boxers threatened to lower on his stomach when Clarry Hopkins suddenly exploded in a flash of embers that landed on Dean's naked torso, burning like cigarettes to add insult to injury.

For a second Dean lay there, unable to move. When he finally started to breathe it was as if he'd run a marathon. His hand groped to pull his jeans up and he struggled with the zipper, his icy fingers unable to master the snap.

His job was to look after Sammy. But he couldn't move. He knew the ghost's hold on his body was gone. He wanted to scream but he bit it back. Was she gone? Was she coming back? So he screamed inside but it did nothing to let out the cold darkness that dominated him.

He tried to breathe. Tried to take stock of his body but wanted to disappear at the same time. But he couldn't leave Sam.

Sam moaned again. That one sound freed Dean from his mind's restraints. He got shakily to his feet, only to fall beside his brother. Sam screamed when Dean put a hand on his forehead. Dean withdrew his hand like he'd been burned, horror froze in his throat as Sam's eyes shot wide open.

_God no, not Sammy._

The normal question, the tried and true one, _are you okay, _came from Dean, but he couldn't ask the obvious question because he couldn't face the answer. He hadn't been there when Clarry had taken Sam and she'd had him for quite awhile. _Did she…_

Sam rolled to his side, clutching his ribs, but assuring Dean they weren't broken.

Dean put on his game face. "Can you stand, Sammy? We should get out of here."

"I … I think so," Sam replied, taking Dean's hand, feeling the intense cold, instantly looking up to Dean's shadowed expression.

Dean hitched an arm around Sam's waist and they left the mausoleum together. At fourteen, Sam was significantly smaller than Dean, who was tempted to carry him on their way back to the grave. The fire was burning brightly in the open grave.

Dean sat Sam down as he gathered their shovels, anything that might have their fingerprints on them. Sam's chest ached from where the ghost had stood in him. He stared at Dean as he gathered their things.

Dean didn't have the same cocky demeanor a finished hunt usually gave him. His shoulders shook and his breath came in small, controlled hitches. He was clumsy. He dropped things while loading the bags, the fire illuminated his face as a loud pop from an angry ember embedded itself into a nearby tree, fizzling out.

"Dean! What happened to your face?" Sam exclaimed, getting to his feet. Small burns marked Dean's left cheek and chin and Dean froze momentarily at the popping noise from the ember, never answering Sam's question.

Dean looked down into the hole as Clarry's body turned to ash finally and pitched forward to a bent posture vomiting violently. And Sam suddenly understood Dean's question back at the mausoleum when his big brother flinched as he tried to pat his back.

Dean gasped between bouts of vomit and dry heaving before falling face first and curling into a ball clutching his stomach through his torn shirt that barely hung by the shoulders of fabric.

Sam's voice was very small. "Dean, oh my God."

Dean used Sam's voice as the crutch to get him up. He needed to get Sam someplace warm, someplace safe. Someplace away from _her._

Sam let himself be herded into the car, not saying a word about the still open, burning grave. Dean peeled out of the lot and seemed to be programmed only to breathe.

Keys fell to the pavement as Dean fumbled to open the lock of the hotel room. Sam was shepherded straight to the bathroom where Dean turned on the water and ordered him to take a shower, closing the door after tossing Sam a towel.

Sam stood, still shivering in the hot water, mindful to leave some for Dean, his brother was shaking so badly. The door opened on a crack and clean clothes landed on a small shelf before it closed again. Sam wiggled into the warm clothes, getting his fresh socks wet from his trails of water from the shower. He opened the door timidly.

Dean was on the phone.

"Yes sir, salted and burned. No sir, no lasting damage, Sammy's a little bruised but he'll be okay, I'll take care of him. Yes sir, I'm fine."

"Liar," Sam said, with as much bravery as he could muster.

Dean shoved a cup of steaming coffee into Sam's hands, ordering him to drink it while he inspected Sam's bruises. He fished out two pain tablets and gave them to Sam who took them without question. Dean then launched into a newscaster style report of the conversation he had with their father.

"Dad's going to get here tomorrow," Dean ground out. _Not like I need him or anything._

"Did you tell him that Clarry was the real rapist?" Sam asked as Dean flinched.

"I told him about the boys she killed and I gave dad the lead on the guy who's still alive. Dad's gonna convince the guy to come forward and speak on behalf of Birk, get his sentence reduced to manslaughter and get him a retrial based on his crime and his age at the time. Turns out the only reason Birk wasn't killed was because he was housed in an old part of the jail that had iron bars and when he went to court he wore iron shackles. She couldn't get to him."

Dean made a joke about getting an iron chastity belt, but it was delivered without the usual Dean mirth and cockiness. His hands shook and he spit the coffee he made for himself back out into the cup, running for the washroom to try and throw up a lung, because that's all that was left.

Dean was glad that Sam hadn't seen what Clarry did to him. She hadn't gotten what she wanted but she took all Dean had. She broke something in him.

Sam crouched beside Dean. He leaned into his bigger brother.

"Dean, you need to get warm. I left some hot water for you."

Sam tried to grasp Dean by the shoulder to help him up but he was shrugged off. When he grasped Dean's shoulder again, he felt shaking, mixed with trembling, saw tears splash against wet tile but heard nothing.

Because Dean wasn't breathing.

"Dean! Dean look at me man! What's going on?"

Sam shook Dean with enough force to snap Dean's head back and forth. Dean gasped in shock, air entering his lungs in what was clearly an involuntary inhalation.

Sam kneeled beside Dean as he lay on the floor of the washroom on his side, facing away from where he would have to look at Sam or talk to him. Sam searched for something to say but everything he came up with, he rejected. There was a certain way to talk to his big brother, any other way would backfire spectacularly.

Sam had never seen his brother like this before. Dean was the one who did the back patting, the vomit patrol, and the damage control. But damage like this was out of either one of their realms and sitting alone in a hotel bathroom made Sam feel small, unable to help someone who had practically raised him.

Mustering his last reserves of strength and feeling stiff from kneeling and the beating at the hands of Clarry, Sam tried to squelch the fourteen year old voice that was still in the process of changing, for a very familiar, much deeper one.

"Dean, get up and get in the shower, you're freezing, man."

Dean dug his fists into his eyes and rolled onto his back. Sam noticed then that Dean's jeans were not fastened. He pushed the anger and hatred of Clarry Hopkins down as Dean searched for his voice like he'd lost it a long time ago.

"That would be more convincing if your voice didn't crack at every second word geekboy," Dean moaned.

Sam let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob and in truth, it was. Sam got a good look at Dean's chest, littered with small burn marks from Clarry's spirit going up in flames. Dean impulsively clutched both sides of his tattered tee shirt around him.

"I've never known a spirit to burn like that, with real embers," Dean said, able to acknowledge his physical injuries but nothing else.

"Me either," said Sam, anything to fill the awkward void in conversation.

"That's gonna hurt like a bitch when I get in the shower."

"Are you hurt anywhere else, Dean?" Sam looked anywhere but at his big brother, on one hand praying for an _I'm fine_, but knowing that Dean was as far away from fine as he'd ever been and needing Dean to tell him what to do to help.

"I'm fine, Sammy," And there it was, the black and white, all purpose answer.

"Yeah, cause lying on a floor in a hotel washroom is completely normal," Sam said, seriously considering calling their father. When Dean didn't get up during the next fifteen minutes and waffled back and forth between _I'm fine_ and starting sentences that invariably began with She … she … God, Sam she … but ended up with Dean forgetting to breathe, Sam called John.

Dean lay on the bathroom floor wishing for the strength to throw something at his little brother. The betrayal of it all stabbing at his gut. Dean managed to get to his knees, enough to reach the bathroom door and lock it so Sam couldn't come back in and disturb him as he tried to reconstruct the walls around himself.

"Dad's coming back early, he'll be here in two hours, Dean." Sam leaned his head on the door. He didn't know how to fix this. This was bigger than him, it was bigger than Dean, and that thought was as scary as hell because nothing took Dean Winchester down.

The sound of running water infuriated Sam at the same time he was glad that at least Dean was getting warmed up. Dean would shower, put his game face on, suck it up and manage to never admit to anyone that something bad had happened. _To him._

Dean stood under the hot water. He'd barely mixed it with cold and his skin turned pink, the burns turning to blisters and making him shiver in the steam that grew so thick he wished it would swallow him. Moisture in the air made breathing feel more like drinking and dean tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. The heat stole his last ounce of strength and he slowly slumped to the floor of the tub. He drained the shampoo bottle into his palm, working it into his scalp until he thought he'd go bald. The scented body soap turned to mush as the entire bar slicked over every inch of him. And still he felt her.

The water ran cold as Dean ignored the sound from the other side of the door. No way was he going to tell his little brother what had happened. Besides he was being stupid. It didn't really happen. All she did was … it's not like she … but she …

And then the icy water went straight to his heart. He shut the water off and stood looking at the closed door, knowing exactly the spot where Sam had his head resting on the hollow wood. The question would be easier like this, not having to look into those huge eyes that could ruin him.

"Sam, listen to me. I need to know. Did Clarry Hopkins … did she …" God this was so hard. Dean put his head on the door; it was as close as he could be to someone at the moment.

Sam didn't know what to say. To admit that Clarry had teased him and tried to kiss him was embarrassing. Not how he pictured his first kiss. But something had changed and he knew somehow he had to tell the truth.

"She ah, she didn't, you know …" Sam said, picking a splinter of wood from the door that separated him from his brother. "She sort of, sort of wanted to um, kiss me." God how he hated to admit that, but then he remembered Dean's unbuttoned jeans. That wasn't the proof of course, it just sort of cinched together the puzzle. Sam didn't know how far things got. He'd woken up after Clarry was gone.

Dean's sigh of relief could be felt right through the door, which sagged outward toward Sam a little less, as if Dean had gained some footing hearing that Sam hadn't suffered worse than a kiss.

Dean turned from the door, wiping steam from the face of his watch. His father would be there in an hour and a half. He couldn't face him. He had to get out of there. The ex marine had a way of making people talk. Normally that thought would have made Dean laugh but now it terrified him. How would he tell his father that he'd failed? That he'd let a ghost … _What did she even do? _Dean thought in absolute misery. He tried to tell himself he was being a wuss, he hadn't actually been raped. Hell, maybe he should even be bragging about it, a ghost had full on wanted him. But that only served to make him feel even more stupid, she wasn't even a real woman, get over it, Winchester

And so Clarry Hopkins was winning again.

It broke Sam's heart when Dean asked for clothes, his hand snaking around the bathroom door to retrieve them, still shaking like al leaf. Normally Dean strode from the shower in a towel and artfully clothed himself while still wrapped. He emerged from the shower the same colour as the plain white tee shirt Sam had provided.

Sam didn't want to admit he was still freaked out by what Clarry had done to him. He wished Dean would sit on the bed with him and watch TV until their dad got there like he usually did after a hunt had been rough.

Sam went to the car and got the first aid kit to further clean and dress Dean's burns. The hot, then cold water had done nothing but turn them a nasty, angry red, and green puss was beginning to form in the centers, that much was visible through the white shirt.

"Don't even think about it, squirt," Dean warned as Sam approached with the alcohol swabs. "Besides, that's not exactly the kind of alcohol I had in mind. Dean made a trip of his own to the Impala, coming back with his dad's bottle of whiskey. He downed half a bottle before Sam tipped it back away from him and caught an angry glare before resuming his guzzle. Dean needed to make the pain go away, figure out the awkwardness, make it okay somehow.

Dean was drunk by the time John's key clicked in the lock. Dean tried to stand up, almost at attention, but it was a wasted effort as his buckling knees betrayed him and let him sink the floor.

Sam wanted to yell at his dad, say the same thing to him he'd said to Dean, that Dean was bait in this case and now look what happened. But he also knew that his dad was the only one who could fix Dean. If he could be fixed. So Sam shut up, save for to answer his dad's question. _Yes, he was okay. Not really, and neither is Dean._

"Damn it, Sam, I told you I was busy. You should have put Dean on the phone if this was happening and I would have ordered him to stop. Celebrating the end of a successful hunt is one thing but this …"

"We weren't celebrating … sir," Sam bit out, trying desperately not to start a fight that Dean so did not need right now.

"What? You told me the body was salted and burned, is that or is that not a fact?"

"Yes, the spirit is gone, dad, but she … she …" Sam stammered as Dean shot him a murderous glare through blood shot eyes from where he kneeled on the floor. _Don't Sam, or I swear to God … _For once Sam hated that his brother could read him like a cheap novel. But the vision of Dean's unbuttoned jeans flashed in Sam's mind and it helped his resolve.

Sam got up and grabbed John's arm and dragged him out the hotel room, closing the door to an oath from Dean of, "I hate you so much, Sam."

For once in his life, John Winchester actually looked scared.

"Look, Sam if Dean's hurt we need to get him to a hospital." As John said this, he noticed that Sam arms were folded protectively around his chest. He reached out.

"'M fine, dad, it's Dean. He ah. The ghost she …" For once in his life Sam was grateful when his dad gave him a direct order to spit it out.

"I think, I think she r …raped Dean, dad," Sam croaked.

John had no words. He'd driven two hours to break up a fight, or scold Dean for over-celebrating or maybe to check a minor injury the boys were unsure of. Nothing could have prepared him for this.

Sam wanted John to march right back into the room and make Dean stop hurting. To take it all away, but John just stood there, gaping, then he punched the brickwork beside the door, feeling obvious satisfaction at the blood that trickled from his knuckles and giving him something to focus on as he slowly opened the door.

Sam was left standing on the small patio. He wasn't sure he wanted to be here. Dean hated him. But he hated watching Dean hurt worse.

John picked his oldest up from the floor and sat him on the edge of the bed. Dean flinched the same way he had when Sam touched him.

If Clarry had been a flesh and blood woman, John would have taken Dean to a hospital but as they really didn't do the hospital thing unless absolutely necessary and as Clarry was a ghost, he was at a loss.

The alcohol proved to be a blessing in disguise, even through the bouts of sickness and hanging over the toilet as Dean spewed his guts literally and figuratively.

Tears formed in John's eyes as every question he asked was shot down by silence, but the pain on his father's face when he resorted to the orders that he usually reveled in, was frightening Sam. Sam wanted to clap his hands over his ears, anything but to hear the sobbed confessions of what Clarry had done to Dean.

"Dean, did she rape you?" The question left no room for debate.

"N ..no, sir." Dean said, biting the inside of his cheek for the second time that day. Dean looked John in the eye. He wasn't lying.

Sam's sigh of relief was short lived however when Dean vomited out more that he could process at this age.

"She … said that if I cried out, tried to st …stop her, she'd … oh God, dad, she wanted Sammy. I couldn't let her have Sammy. He's only fourteen years old, I'm older. And I couldn't fight her. I couldn't move. I let her get the upper hand and she took Sam, sir. I'm so sorry. Sam's hurt, dad."

John held Dean to his chest as Dean crashed.

"She took Sammy and I had to finish the job because I couldn't find him."

"Dean …" Sam called from the other bed and though Dean didn't look up, Sam continued. "She was going to. I'm sure of it. She told me that I'd be hers and I was so scared, Dean, but then she disappeared. You saved me, Dean. She came to find you instead. You saved me."

Now Sam knew why Dean hated him. If it hadn't been for his being so stupid and letting himself get taken, Dean wouldn't have been distracted.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I let her get me and in the end, she hurt you instead. I'm sorry." Sam stared at Dean's back, slumped over the toilet once again.

John carried Dean back to bed when he was fairly certain he was done puking up the Jack Daniels. But Dean wasn't done talking. Or walking apparently. He got up and staggered to Sam's bed, flopping ungracefully beside the boy he _hated._

"She doesn't get to do that. She doesn't get to make my little brother feel bad for what she did. You couldn't help it, Sam. When she took me, it was like my feet just left the ground, there was nothing we could do, you got that? What happened to you, what happened to me, it wasn't our fault."

No truer words were ever spoken.

Dean didn't mean to lay beside Sam. He was still mad at Sam, just not for the reasons Sam thought. Now their dad knew how weak he was. What a wuss he was. He'd practically admitted to being a virgin at some point he was pretty sure. Words swirled in his tired, hazy brain.

"I'm sorry, dad," Dean mumbled, his head lolling to one side to rest against Sam's shoulder, a shoulder that Sam felt would never be big enough to make this go away.

When Sam fell asleep, John slipped from the room. This problem was even bigger than him and that was saying something. Truth was, there was no one who could magically fix this, but he could buy his boys some time to come to grips with what happened. To rest their bodies and minds.

"Bobby it's me. Listen, I need a place to bring the boys … no, the three of us this time. Sam's got bruised ribs and Dean … he …" John trailed off, finally realizing that if he couldn't say it, he couldn't fix it. "Dean's been abused …" John related the fact that Dean hadn't been raped but was pretty messed up and confused.

John crept back into the room, grateful that Dean slept soundly while he checked his injuries. He rubbed burn ointment on Dean's chest and face and covered him back up. Sam rolled to his side and John used that to his advantage to gently check his youngest son's ribs. It was a relief to find they weren't broken. Dean had told him on the phone they weren't. He marveled at Dean's ability to assess Sam even through his own pain accurately.

Sam's hand rested on Dean's chest. Dean unconsciously reached up and put his hand on Sam's. "I could never hate you, Sammy."

XXXX

It was a full four months before Dean started joking around like his old self. There had been no touchy feely moments, no caring and sharing. It wasn't in Dean's nature. There had been tense moments, like when Dean's burns became infected and he refused to let anyone clean and dress them until ordered but that went with the territory of what happened to him.

In the year that followed, Dean's demeanor toward all things woman changed. It was obvious he gave up his virgin status by the all nighters he'd pull after hunts. But Sam remained grateful for one thing. He could never recall a time when he was dismissed from Dean's company when Dean was on the arm of a woman who was drunk or not in complete control. Dean seemed to enjoy the one night stands, but Sam always wondered, thinking back to the what ifs if Dean could have stayed for his graduation where he wanted to, with Cheryl, and especially if Clarry Hopkins hadn't gotten her hands on him.


	17. Erl King

**Scene-Writer: V.R. Jennings**

Responder: Emerald-Water

**a/n 1:** So, I was thinking about this scene V gave to me... and on accident I remembered this old poem (Goethe will probably come back as a revenant for doing this and haunt my sorry ass). My apology to you, old chap! I think after this I will never do poems again. You just have to survive this one - promise! *LOL*

Still, I hope you enjoy this. Let me know. And I hope I met your expectation V.

If you want to read the whole poem let me know. I do have it and will certainly share ;)

**a/n 2: Emerald-Water, you have met and exceeded my expectations way past my wildest imaginations...and quite honestly when I started writing the scene, the first person that came to mind that would make the scene into something spectacular was you, girl :) *hugs* And a little slight warning to everyone: we could never kill Dean...at least permanently...we love him too much.**

**a/n 3:** thanks for adding that we not gonna kill Dean here... I totally forgot to say that...

----------------------------

**Erl-King**

O who rides by night thro' the woodland so wild?

It is the fond father embracing his child;

And close the boy nestles within his loved arm,

To hold himself fast, and to keep himself warm.

-----

"You don't even know where you're goin', do you?" fifteen-year-old Sam said smartly to John's back as the three Winchesters trudged through the woods looking for the spirit of Lady Grace, "We've been walking around this damn forest for the past two hours. Can't you just admit we're lost? And besides, there's no cell reception…You know what? I bet you probably don't even have a plan, at least one that doesn't involve sacrificing your own sons."

"Sam," Dean warned from right beside his brother as he kept a close lookout for the spirit, all the while hating the feeling of being exposed. He knew it was a bad idea of going half cocked after a spirit that lures unsuspecting stragglers deeper into the woods before killing them. He glanced at Sam and unconsciously moved closer.

"No Dean," John snapped, stopping his oldest as he turned to face his youngest, "Let's hear what the spoiled, ungrateful brat has to say." He glared at the rebellious teenager, hands already balled into fists, just itching to do some damage. He's almost had it with his youngest, always questioning and patronizing him. When and where Sam got the idea that everything was John's fault, the father didn't know.

"Ungrateful –!" Sam sputtered, outraged, "You're the one who's ungrateful! All we are, are your little disposable soldiers! You don't care about us! We're nothing to you! All you care is about going after the thing that killed Mom!"

"Sam," Dean cautioned as he stepped in between his brother and father.

"You know that's not true!" John refuted, shouting over Dean's head, "You and Dean are all I have –"

Sam scoffed, "Yeah, like I said – disposable soldiers! Ones you can easily throw away –!"

"Sam," Dean cautioned again, "Dad, we're in the middle of a damn hunt. It's not the place or the time to –"

"If you wanna blame somebody for your mother's death, blame that goddamn thing that killed her!" John roared, ignoring his oldest.

"That's rich coming from you!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"SAM!" Dean frantically yelled as he pushed his brother out of the way.

Sam landed ungracefully on his butt, annoyed that his brother shoved him and a little humiliated for landing on his behind, but his demeanour changed to one of horror when his brother's pained gasp made him look up at Dean.

"DEAN!"

Time seemed to slow down for John. One minute he was glaring at Sam over Dean's head and the next he was staring transfixed at what had happened. Time decided to speed up after Sam's anguished cry.

_No, no, no, no! This can't be happening!_ John's mind screamed at what he was seeing, "DEAN!"

Dean stood, grunting and panting, as his hands groped for the hilt of the sword in an instinctive move to futilely relieve some of the pressure off his chest. When he saw Lady Grace lift up her Swiss long sword and was preparing to drive it through the back of Sam, Dean pushed his little brother out of the way…but not before the 48 inch sword was rammed to the hilt through him. Weak and shaky, he coughed, feeling the sickly feel of blood running down his chin.

The sight of so much blood, the blood coating his son's front and back where the rest of the blade was jutting out and the amount of blood that Dean was coughing up, spurred the elder hunter into action. Sidestepping to get a better view, John aimed his shotgun at the spirit and fired.

Lady Grace, along with her sword, dissipated and left Dean to painfully fall down to his knees.

John quickly fell to his son's side and guided him to the ground. "Shit Dean," he whispered hoarsely as he held his dying son close to him, "Don't you die on me. That is an order." _Stay with me kiddo. Please stay with me. _

He froze as Dean started to take another painful gulp of air, only to stop mid-breath...

...

The world was spinning as John sat there, looking down at the still body of his oldest. Staring, uncomprehending, his heart thudding painfully slow, as if it wanted to stop beating too...

"No..." he whispered, not accepting the truth that lay there, on the ground. "No..." he repeated, louder, his shaking hands roaming over his boy's body, stopping over the too still heart, ignoring the blood that coated them immediately as one hand lay atop the other and he started to press down hard, forcing the heart to do its job to circulate the remaining blood through his son's body.

After pushing down thirty times he stopped, his eyes coming to rest on the white face and blue tinged lips as he bent over, tilting Dean's head back and breathed for him two times. Then he continued with pressing down hard on the sternum again. He felt the bones churn under his assault, could hear the small whimper escaping from his other son as he stood there, as a bystander, unable to move, unable to comprehend what had just happened, that in mere seconds... "No!" John panted, pushing all his venom and pain and fright into this words. "You're not dying. Don't you dare! Don't you dare..."

...

_...He was standing on the soft, uneven ground, fog trailing around his feet, as he stared into the darkness that lurked behind the first line of trees. In the back, he knew, sat the small wooden house he had built, built for his little family that now was destroyed..._

_Tears started to trail down his face, his hands clenching around the tin-cup carrying whiskey. _

_Salina, his wife…she had loved this place. Had loved their little own world just outside the small city, away from the loudness and roughness of people that didn't care, didn't feel, didn't have this delicate mind... white-knuckled, he drew his arm back and sent the cup flying, screaming out the rage over his loss. His whole life shattered in pieces for his dead wife, making him feel dead inside. Salina. Beautiful, gentle, lovely Salina… _

_A hand on his shoulder made him shudder and turn around. Dr. Harold was staring at him, sympathetic. "Aaron? You need anything? Can I do anything to help you?" _

_He shook his head. "No. No one can help me."_

"_Let's go back to the house, shall we? He's already asking for you. You sure I can't…" _

"_I said no one can help me. Just... go! Leave me the hell alone." _

"_Aaron, believe me… I know how hard it is on you. How you suffer." _

_Dr. Harold flinched as Aaron shrugged his reassuring hand from his shoulder. _

"_You don't know! I'd give anything… anything for her to return… anything… Salina…" the venom left his voice as choked sobs filled the quiet air. _

"_Aaron…"_

_Dr. Harold stumbled backwards as he was pushed hard in the chest. _

"_I said... leave me the hell alone!" _

_Without another word the young man turned around, not caring which way he ran. Just away. Away from death and people. Deeper into the forest. _

_..._

_He stumbled along the intricate path. Long ago he had left behind the bright light of the new day, the darkness of the dense wood growing heavier and more oppressive with every step he took as he walked deeper into the forest._

_Then suddenly it ended in front of an old, gnarly alder and his knees buckled, hitting the ground as hard sobs wracked his frame, the loss of his loved wife catching up with him. _

_He didn't know how much time went by while he knelt there on the shadowy clearing in front of the alder. The light grew dim again as afternoon turned into early evening and the shadows spread wider and longer. Eventually his crying stopped, no tears left in him as he lay drained and curled up in front of the old tree, watching as the pale moon sent its gentle light through the spidery, gnarly branches. His numbed mind grew alert as something within the alder-tree moved. _

_At first he thought he had imagined it as he ever so slowly scrambled to his feet, his eyes frozen to the tree. But soon the movement repeated and he held his breath as he stared, waiting for something to happen. _

_He wasn't prepared for hands on his shoulders, turning him around to see directly into the face of a... creature. A creature with skin as rough and hard as bark, long and thin arms ending in spidery bony fingers, and bowed talons. The face dark and mossy, only the eyes burned in a fierce and evil glow. The horrific bald head was framed by a crown of odd growth._

_Fear settled into the pit of his stomach as the creature held his gaze captivatingly, blood pounding through his head, making his ears ring… The forest around him started to sink into fog, as whispered words started to lift the curtain that kept him from knowing. "Don't you dare, Dean… don't you dare…" and the foggy realms he currently was in grew dim as darkness descended… _

...It was an odd and terrifying sensation. Something pressed down hard on his chest and he felt his ribs move from the force. He wanted to scream, tell them to stop, that it hurt and tried to breathe but it didn't work. He felt tears build behind his closed lids and tried to pry his eyes open, to allow them to flow, to show them that he felt what they were doing to him. And he suddenly gagged as air burbled down his throat. Warm, moist air. Air shouldn't taste like that!

From far away he could hear a voice scream "Stop!" and he was grateful as the pressure on his ribs vanished and he was gently pulled upright, the gagging turned into a coughing-fit as he continued to wheeze breath after breath into his oxygen-deprived body.

His head lolled and a warm hand suddenly was on his forehead, pushing it gently backward to rest on a broad shoulder. Words were spoken while he continued to struggle for breath, and now that he wasn't tortured by hands pressing down on his ribcage he felt oddly self-conscious that tears still ran down his cheeks.

Something warm was wrapped around his torso and shoulder and he finally managed to force his eyes into a half-mast, looking at the tear-stricken face of his little brother, Sam's hand just about to touch his face.

"'m okyyy..." the words hurt his throat, his ribs. It hurt to breathe.

"Shhhh..." the soft soothing was whispered in his right ear.

"Daa..." he tried again, new tears running down his face. It hurt.

"Don't talk. Just relax and stay with us... okay?" Dean simply nodded, eyes drooping already.

"No... no sleeping Dean... stay awake..." he startled at the hidden panic in the words.

"Sam, we need to find a place to rest for the night... and..." John started.

"I know dad. I got it." Sam's voice was serious, gone the hatred from before, the sarcastic undertone.

Dean really tried. Tried hard to stay alert and he managed a few times to shake himself awake again. But eventually his hurt and exhaustion won over his will. His eyes drifted shut. _Sorry..._

...

"O father, see yonder! see yonder!" he says;

"My boy, upon what dost thou fearfully gaze?"

"O, 'tis the Erl-King with his crown and his shroud."

"No, my son, it is but a dark wreath of the cloud."

-----

They had set camp below the projecting branches of an gnarly, old alder. Using the broad tree's stem to have something on their back, while they rested between the huge and thick roots, listening to the soft whispers of the leaves over their head.

They both sat, near the fire, their eyes alert, only a few words spoken since the incident.

Sam's eyes drifted from the warm, crackling flames to the ghost-white face of his brother. Although they had tried their best to clean him up, there still were speckles of blood on Dean's cheek, chin and hands. His shirt was literally drenched in blood on the front and back. Sam swallowed down the threatening tears.

Seeing his brother impaled by that sword, seeing all the blood... Dean taking in wet and spluttering breaths, his eyes bulging with the strain and effort it took to breathe... and then his eyes rolling back in his head as he stopped mid-breathing.

Sam would never forget...

"We don't know a thing about what's going on here Dad," Sam whispered, breaking the silence that had descended over the small clearing, his eyes still on Dean's sleeping form.

Out of the corner of his eyes he could see John acknowledge his words with a nod. "I know..." was the hoarse and faraway reply.

Sam returned his eyes to his dad, looking at him for the first time since this hunt had started. He could see the deep lines of worry etched into the usual stoic expression of his father, small freckles of blood were visible on his neck and the collar of his shirt. John's hands didn't seem to stop fidgeting as they lay on his lap, dried blood still there in the ridges and under his fingernails. But the worst were his dad's eyes as they watched Dean sleep.

"I... this is all my fault. I should have known better. I've done this long enough. He just followed my orders... like... like a good... good little soldier... gosh!" John's hand ran through his hair, running down his face, hiding exhausted eyes for a second."I'm so sorry..."

"He's alive, Dad. The wound..."

"I know, Sam. And I've never seen anything like this. For all I know, all I learned, he must have died. It was a lethal wound, all the blood. The sword... It had pierced his lung, probably his heart too. So much blood... so much blood on him... " John trailed off and pushed to his feet, walking over to Dean's huddled form on the ground, gently pressing his hand to Dean's forehead, then trailing his fingers down to rest in the crook of Dean's neck. Dean didn't as much as twitch.

"I felt the torn skin under my hands Sam... I felt it, could feel the blood flowing as I did CPR... and then... suddenly... it stopped and started to heal... and..." John let the rest of his sentence hang,instead going for the facts. "He's still a little in shock. Skin's clammy, pulse's strong but way too fast. I just hope he'll be in better condition tomorrow. We have to get him outta here first thing."

Both fell silent, eyes growing alert as the wind ruffled the leaves of the tree, growing in strength, rocking the tree-tops, whispering, howling at them, only to stop the next instant. An eerie quiet settled again, even the sounds of the little nocturnal animals died down.

Then the crying began.

"Is that the crying of a child?" Sam asked breathlessly at the wailing-sound coming from the woods.

As an answer, John pushed the sawed-off shotgun into his empty hands. "Stay with your brother. Be alert! I'm going to check it out. I'll be back in a minute. Whatever happens you stay with Dean. Don't let him out of your sight."

"Yes sir..." It was whispered, and John could see Sam's eyes widening in fear.

John's hand caressed Sam's cheek. "You can manage sport. I know you can. I'll be back right away."

...

She saw him leave and her gaze fell on the two youngsters left behind, her stormy, blue eyes resting on the older one sleeping by the fire on the ground. She had seen it in his eyes. The gentleness she had sought for so long. He had Aaron's eyes.

In life as in death she had tried so often to make people listen to her. But only Aaron had stopped to hear her, had seen her as she really was and had loved her without condition. And she had loved him. A love-story... without a happy-ending. All had ended that one fateful night. The night she lost all. Her love, her child, her life...

Ever since that night she had tried so hard to tell them about her fate, and the fate of her family, had asked for help to save her and her own. To stop the evil that lived in those woods. The evil that kept her here, because it kept her son... her son...

But they never listened. And over the decades she had grown frantic, and anguished and at times furious. Had started to tell them by showing them, letting them feel the pain and despair that was eating her away. That had taken her son and killed her husband. Every emotion so much stronger then she had felt it in her lifetime. And so destructive.

And it always had ended in death and her cry of help went unheard.

But he had listened. The boy with Aaron's eyes. That's why she needed to go on with her story. Tell him more.

...

"O father, my father, and did you not hear

The Erl-King whisper so low in my ear?"

"Be still, my heart's darling--my child, be at ease;

It was but the wild blast as it sung thro' the trees."

-----

One moment Sam was crouching beside his brother, whose sleep had turned fitful the last couple of minutes, and then the next moment he felt the fine hairs on his neck raise and before he as much as could lift the gun, the world turned upside down and he hit a nearby tree hard. The air left his lungs with a whoosh and he slipped down the rough bark, feeling it scratch his shoulder.

It took him three times to gather enough air to cry out as loud as he could muster: "DA..!" The last syllable stuck in the back of his throat, his eyes widening in horror as he watched the scene that played out in front of him.

...

She bent over him and his eyes snapped open at her first touch, gentle and frightful green orbs resting on her deep-blue ones. She could hear something crashing through the trees, not far away now and she knew only seconds were left to tell him the next part of the story. Her hands wrapped around his throat in unrelenting force, burning and bruising the soft skin under her ice-cold touch.

She could see his eyes growing wide, breaths wheezing and then only his open mouth continued to try and get air past his squished airways... just as his eyes rolled back in his head the sword reappeared out of thin air and she struck at his head, feeling the bone under her force break, crimson pooling under the youngsters head on the ground.

She didn't hear the scream of complete terror, didn't feel the shot hitting her, causing her to dissipate. Only her success counted. He would know now.

...

John stopped dead in his tracks as the gunshot broke through the night, echoed off the trees multiplied. Sam. Dean!

An anguished scream followed the shot and John's brain stopped shooting questions and commands. He just ran. Ran for his sons. Ran to find himself stop frozen as he entered the small clearing, seeing Sam sitting there, his brother's upper body on his lap, held tightly as the boy rocked back and forth.

Blood coated the two of them and for the short amount of a second John's vision grew dim, his heart seemed to stop and a dry sob escaped him. _This was all his fault!_ Then he was beside his sons, looking down at all the blood...

...

"_What is it you wish most?" The voice was a leer, as the dark orbs scrutinized him, stopping at his eyes and he had the feeling they looked through the deepest depth of his soul, taking away more of the light that had already been diminished by the death of his beloved wife._

"_So, this is what brought you to me? You wish your wife would be raised from the dead? To never have died?" The laughter was an amused one. _

"_Dear boy, what would you be willingly to give? What could you possess that I'd want?" The eyes suddenly took on a greedy glint, barky lips drawn into a cruel smile, showing off the creature's rotten teeth._

"_Go home now, silly human. Go home to your wife and son. I'll give you a day to think about it. When the moon rises tomorrow night, I'll come for you and ask you again what you possess that I'd want. If you don't know the answer, your life is forfeit. If you have the answer to my question, your beloved wife Salina will be spared. This is the Erl-King's offer to you, Aaron Grace." With that, the Erl-King's bony finger touched his temples and Aaron knew no more..._

...

Sam sat there, his arms holding onto Dean's upper body, not caring that his blood drenched his clothes, while he rocked gently back and forth. His thoughts were caught in an endless-loop. Again and again he sat slumped on the ground of the oak the spirit had thrown him into and looked on petrified as the sword had appeared out of thin air, heard the breaking of bone as it had struck his brother's head on the right side. Everything had vanished behind a red curtain then as Sam lifted the shotgun still in his hands and shot.

He barely noticed someone falling to his knees beside him and heard his dad's breathed "Oh god!" because it didn't matter. Dean was dead. He could hear John's voice rise, but the words didn't register, nor did the soft flutters under his fingers.

Only as John harshly pried his arms open and forced him to let go of his brother did he react. A heart-shattering first sob escaped him, followed by another and another and another as he scrambled away, his eyes frozen on his brother as his dad turned Dean to his side, saw the spasms wracking his brother's body, blood coating the right side of Dean's head, running down his chin, his ears, his nose and then the first inhale, more a groan then breathing.

Sam bowed forward, his arms wrapped around his head as he curled into himself, hard sobs rocking his body, trying to block out the terrifying sounds of Dean's fight to come back to them.

_Again the spirit had killed his brother, only to let his wounds be mended? To bring him back? What sick game was she playing with them?_

...

Everything was cloaked in pain. His head was on fire, his body was on fire. He felt movement, warmth around him, but knew it couldn't offer comfort much longer. He knew something was very wrong. Then suddenly the warmth was gone, and he felt being shifted. Something warm and sticky ran out of his mouth, nose and ears. And he started to gag as he recognized the taste of blood.

Sounds forced their way into his consciousness and he tried to make sense of those jumbled words. The gagging continued for a while and the world started to fade again as he eventually made out one word. "Breathe!" the rough, unsteady voice of his father pierced his mind. And Dean took a breath. Tears streamed down his face from the effort it took to do so. Something soft, brushed over his face, wiping away the blood from his nose and mouth, and soon enough from his ears.

While he continued to force air back into his suffocated lungs, he felt oddly detached, despite the agony he was in. Still some of this dream he had lingered in the back of his head.

The continuing sobbing nearby, however, let him concentrate on his surroundings more. Sammy...

Prying his eyes open, he looked right at the curled up ball only a few feet away from him, his weariness withdrawing at the amount of distress rippling off his little brother there.

Gentle, calloused hands forced his head away and for a moment he could only see the tree-tops under a star-lit autumn-sky. Then the worried face of his father obscured his vision.

"Dean..." he tried to comprehend what the hell had happened for his father to choose this gentle of a tone on him. Then he saw the brightness in his eyes and swallowed hard.

"'d hppnd?" he winced and his father's gentle hand rested on his chest, right above his heart.

"Don't worry. Don'tcha worry, okay? We're here with you and we'll get you through and out of this."

Dean blinked at the concern and raw pain those few words contained.

"Dean..." another soft voice joined the one of his dad's and Dean turned his head enough so he could see into the tear-strained face of his little brother.

"Let him get some rest Sam." His father said, hand never moving away from the place right above his heart on his chest.

Dean wanted to stay awake, ask them what happened that had frightened them so much, but he felt sleep already tugging at him again......

"Smmmy?"

The soft hand of his brother combed through his hair and his voice suddenly was near his ear.

"Don't worry Dean. She won't hurt you again. I'll make sure of it."

Fighting his closed lids to open once more he noticed he must have drifted off again, because he now was situated against his little brother's chest.

A small shiver ran up and down his spine as he tried to make sense of what Sam was talking about. _She won't hurt me? Again?_

"S...he?" Dean asked, the sudden feeling of dread almost overwhelming him.

"Lady Grace. The spirit we're hunting..." a soft quiver shook his frame and he felt Sam's arms around him tighten.

"No..." Dean moaned as memories that weren't his, couldn't be his, flashed in his mind.

"Dad!" from faraway he could hear his brother's scream, followed from a "Please don't hurt him again..." Then another wave of memories took him away from Sam and his Father...

...

"O come and go with me, no longer delay,

Or else, silly child, I will drag thee away."

"O father! O father! now, now, keep your hold,

The Erl-King has seized me--his grasp is so cold!"

-----

_He woke up on soft grass to the chirping of crickets and the soft glow of the full moon. Sitting up and pushing to his feet, he staggered a few steps to find his balance. He was back. Back to the place where he had first started his flight into the forest. _

_Guilt washed over him as he saw the gentle flicker of candlelight from inside the house. He had turned around and left him alone. He had turned away from his baby boy. _

_Hot tears pierced his eyes as he started to run. He wanted to be back. He needed to be back. To take his little boy in his arms. Gabriel. _

_Pushing the door open his eyes skimmed the poorly lit room and stopped on the small boy in front of the fire, playing with wooden blocks. _

_The head with far-too-long chocolate hair had whirled around at the sound of the door. _

"_Daddy!" Hazel eyes beamed at him as the little boy abandoned his game and ran for him. _

_He almost wasn't able to catch the whirlwind, but managed, wrapping his arms around the small frame and hugging him close. _

"_Gabe..." he smiled placing a kiss on top of the soft brown locks. _

"_Daddy where have you been?" huge hazel eyes met his dad's serious-looking ones. _

"_I and Mommy were worried." he stiffened, the arms around the slender boy tightening their grip. _

"_It is Mommy and I Gabriel." the soft voice corrected and Aaron felt his breath catch and tears slip down his face. _

"_Salina..." he whispered looking at his wife, seeing her smile a sad, sorrowful smile at him, and his grip around the little boy in his arms tightened as he suddenly understood what the creature had asked in return for bringing his wife back. _

_He shook his head no. _

"_No..." his voice was barely there while his arms tightened even more around the little boy in his arms. _

"_No." _

"_Daddy?!" He could hear the small frightened voice of his son near his ear. _

"_NO!" _

_..._

_He was spurring the horse, riding through the night. He needed to get Gabriel away. It would not get his son. It would not get his son. _

"_Daddy!" He could feel the child clutching onto him, soft sobs wracking the small frame. But he had no time for comfort. He had to bring Gabriel to safety._

"_Shhh! Don't worry my love." his one arm wrapped around the slender shoulder of his baby boy. _

_At that moment the horse shied and the horseman and his burden fell, hitting the ground hard. _

_Eerie silence settled over the plains, near the forest, only one figure continued to march, soundless and gracefully. The Erl-King stopped in front of father and son, a grim smile tugging on his barky features. _

"_Did you think you could escape me?" the sinister voice of the creature said as it looked down noticing with satisfaction the blood that coated the right side of the man's head, showing bone. _

_Aaron Grace whimpered, holding onto the trembling bundle in his arms. A soft sob escaped him as he heard the frightened keening from his little boy. _

_He would have screamed if he had any strength left, but out of his mouth only came a garbled cry. Blood ran down his throat as his baby-boy was ripped from his arms. _

"_He's mine." The creature said, turning around to walk up to the horse, taking the sword out of the saddlebag. _

_Cold silver reflected the moonlight as the Erl-King returned to its prey. _

"_He's mine now." With that he rammed the sword through the father's chest, pinning him to the ground. _

_The last thing Aaron Grace heard was the terrified scream of his baby boy._

Sore trembled the father; he spurr'd thro' the wild,

Clasping close to his bosom his shuddering child;

He reaches his dwelling in doubt and in dread,

But, clasp'd to his bosom, the infant was dead.

_..._

With a gasp he became conscious. Pain flared in his chest and head and for a moment he didn't know where he was. What had happened? Gabriel... then the confusion made place as he saw her eyes. The same sad and sorrowful gaze he had seen only moments ago.

"Salina..." he whispered.

The sword in her hand let him shrink back, as he remembered the raw pain it had inflicted as it was driven through his chest to pin him... Gabriel...

"Help me!" Her voice was as gentle as he remembered it.

Pushing himself into a semi-sitting position he could see it was dark. Fog was covering the forest's floor, his own clothes had already become damp.

"Where am I?" he asked, looking around and stopped at the old, gnarly alder.

"It has taken my son. You're the first who's listened. Please! Please help me to get Gabriel back. Save... us!" ... then she was gone and the world around him started to diminish.

"_Dean! Dean please! Dean! Don't hurt him. Please! Nooo!" _

His eyes snapped open at the distress in his little brother's voice and he looked into the ghostly eyes of Salina, one of her hands still on his forehead, the other tightly wrapped around the sword high above her head. Sam's trembling arms were wrapped tightly around his middle.

Seconds passed by as he watched her eyes and eventually nodded.

"I'll help." he rasped and the sword she held fell from her grasp landing with a hollow thump on the wooden floor.

A little smile graced Lady Grace's lips right before another rock-salt-round hit her and let her dissipate.

...

John had stared, petrified for his two sons. Sam's scream had alerted him and the moment he turned on his heels he saw the ghostly figure of Lady Salina Grace touch his oldest's forehead and chest.

Dean convulsed two times, as if he was trying to fight her off, then he lay completely still.

Sam's broken "Please don't hurt him again." let him come out of his stupor and diving for the shot-gun nearby.

But before his fingers wrapped around the gun's stock Sam's scream stopped him again in his tracks.

"Dean! Dean please! Dean! Don't hurt him. Please! Nooo!"

Lady Grace's one hand still continued to stay on Dean's forehead while her other now was wrapped hard around the sword she had raised high above her head. About to settle the final blow.

Dean's eyes snapped open, staring at the ghost before whispering something John couldn't hear.

The sword in her hand wavered and John tried to get a clear shot, saw the sword tumbling from her grip, right before the rock-salt-shell hit her and she vanished without a sound.

Silence settled once again over the small clearing and John let go of the gun running over to the two boys on the ground.

"Dean! Sammy!" He dropped where only moments before the ghost had been, his hands pushing back Dean's hair and shirt to search for injuries inflicted by the ghost.

No mark was to be seen.

"Dean!" he whispered, looking his oldest in the eyes, searching there.

"She wants... help." Dean's raspy voice answered the unspoken question he could read in his dad's eyes.

"Something's... here..."

At those words the wind started to blow in a fierce breeze, leaves dancing in circles being pushed high into the air. John felt the air around him charge, the fine hair on the back of his neck starting to rise but before he could as much as move a muscle he was ripped back by an unseen force and flew through the air, hitting a tree hard. The last thing he was aware of was his youngest's terrified scream that stopped abruptly. Then he knew no more...

...

Dean felt his body tremble. His eyes already had drooped as the comfort coming from his little brother behind him and the warm and calloused hands of his father suddenly vanished and were replaced by cool autumn-air and a hard and fierce grip. Sam's scream had shocked him from lethargy into complete awareness and fighting-modus.

The vice-like grip around his arms hardened as his eyes snapped open, a heavy weight settling on his hip pressing him down into the soft forest-ground.

He stopped breathing as his eyes met those of the creature and he felt his soul freeze as it chuckled at him, a low, menacing laughter.

"So, she finally found someone who listened?" The Erl-King spoke, the dark orbs mesmerizing the boy he held pinned to the ground seeking his soul, violating it, searching for the innermost need in the young man and started to grin, showing his rotten teeth.

"Tell me, Dean. What do you wish most?"

...

_My mom! My old dad! A normal life for Sammy!_ All those thoughts rose to the surface unwillingly as the words of the Erl-King struck.

"So many wishes Dean Winchester? And tell me: What could you have that I would like to possess?" Leering eyes looked down at him, still pinning him to the ground, a dry sob escaping Dean's throat as he craned his neck to see what had happened to his dad and brother.

_Flashes of a little boy with chocolate-brown hair and hazel eyes smiling up to him, to Aaron! A small body held close to his, to Aaron's! Cruel hands taking the child away, the sword going through his flesh, tearing muscle, organs and splitting bone..._

_The gentle features of Salina, pinned by a body looking up with scared eyes and dark orbs reflected in her bright blue hues, as the creatures bony hands closed around her throat..._

"You... killed them. You bastard...killed them and took her child."

"I collect souls of the innocent. This is what I have been doing over centuries. No one ever stopped me. And today I'll take your brother's soul!" the Sprite snarled, greedy eyes searching out Sam's slumped form.

Dean's eyes widened with fear that almost immediately turned into a rage and fury he had never felt in his life before. A hatred that fuelled his body, tingling in his belly to spread through his paralyzed muscles, adrenaline numbing all aches, as he bucked his hips once.

"You will not get him. You will not get my kid-brother!" the trembling in his limbs grew as he started to push and struggle against the hold of the creature, fighting to get his hands free.

"You don't give him willingly? I'm gonna take what's mine!" the Erl-King sniggered, its claw-like fingers running down Dean's chest, drawing blood and a pained scream from Dean.

Dean used the moment to buck his hips again, managing to free his right arm. The Erl-King screeched in rage, its hands immediately grabbing at him, as Dean wriggled and squirmed to his stomach, tried to crawl out from under his opponent. He could see the silver of the sword only a few feet away and pushed himself forward but never made it in time.

Agony ripped through his body as he felt something cut into him. He cried out in agony, his back arching, driving the sharp talons of the Erl-King deeper into his body.

He never saw the sneer on the features of the creature, as it pushed forward to his backward movement and then withdrew it's claws with a squelching sound from his upper back.

Dean flopped forward unmoving, feeling the cold of the ground seep into his bones as he laid there, blood flowing from the five puncture wounds to his back, his breath coming in short fluttering gasps.

...

The Erl-King stood looking down at its prey. Stupid, weak humans. Always falling for his question of their grand wish. He turned around, looking at the younger boy, lying in a heap on the ground of its tree. A nasty smile gracing its lips. Collecting the souls of children. This one having a beautiful, innocent one, although barely a child anymore. In its realm his soul would stay like this forever.

Slowly walking forward he stopped and bend, taking in the bruises already forming on the youngster's forehead, running down the side of his neck to vanish, hidden by the shirt of the boy. He slowly trailed its bony fingers down the cheek of the boy. Then straightened and raised its right claw, ready to strike, to rip the soul out of the living body. To take what he claimed his. A tingling feeling ran up and down the Erl-King's spine and it froze as it suddenly understood it wasn't excitement it felt. It was foreboding.

The Erl-King rose and whirled around but it was too late already. Silver met sinister as the sword once owned by Aaron Grace ran through the Erl-King's body, embedding itself deep into the bark of the huge alder at the dark creature's back as it screeched in anguish, dark blood filling its mouth and throat and it almost didn't hear the wheezed words the young man he had thought dead whispered to it.

"You will not get him. He... is mi..." a weak cough interrupted the words. "Set them free." Dean tasted blood as he pushed the words out between clenched teeth, looking as the dark life left those sinister eyes, feeling his strength wane and he crashed to his knees in front of the Erl-King watching its head fall forward, the dark blood of the creature dripping to the ground, spilling on Sam's prone form.

The edges around Dean's vision grew dim, as his trembling hands reached for his little brother, dragging him back and away. Away from the dying Sprite. For one last time the Erl-King took a shuddering breath and twitched. Then it grew still. Dean blinked, feeling his strength wane fast now as he saw the glowing spheres rise from everywhere around the alder and dead creature. Ascending high into the air, quiet and beautiful as his body stopped functioning and he slumped sideways, the world fading out on him with Sam in his arms.

"You'll never get him..."

...

_He smiled looking at the little boy with chocolate-brown curls that was securely held by his mother. Salina. _

"_Hey Gabriel!" his voice was gentle as he ruffled the kids unruly hair. _

_The little boy's head turned around at him and smiled shyly before he hid his face in the crook of his mother's neck again. _

"_Thank you..." she smiled. "Thank you for listening and for saving my baby. Finally, after all this time we can move on..." she raised her hand and gently stroke his cheek a gentle smile gracing her features as suddenly the light around them grew brighter and brighter, forcing him to close his eyes. _

"_Thank you and farewell, Dean..."_

"Dean! C'mon! We're almost there. Just hold on for me, please Dean, please!" he heard the light voice of his brother, felt the soft hands of him on his face, around his shoulders and the soft grumble of the Impala beneath him. _They were in the car?_

"S'mm" he cringed as something warm ran down his chin and felt the chest of his brother hitch.

"DAD! Please Dean! Please... please... stay with me!" the words were so raw and filled with anguish that Dean wanted to comply. He tried to force his eyes open, but they didn't budge. More blood filled his throat and he started to choke, felt the sobs wracking his little brother's frame, as he continued to hold Dean upright, to scream for their Dad to hurry, for him to stay there, with him, with him, with him...

...

Sounds were fading in and out of his consciousness, accompanied by the caresses of hands. He never caught more than a few scraps of it all before darkness claimed him again.

And then, as he finally woke up, it was to soft hands holding his. It was a hold he would recognize always, because so often had those hands held onto him when Sam had been frightened in their childhood. He remembered that the last time he had felt Sam's arms around him it had been the only thing anchoring him as the pain was too much to comply to the sobbed commands and pleadings. He had felt Sam's chest hitch, had felt devastated that he couldn't make it, couldn't ease his little brother's fears... "S'mmy..." he felt his lips moving, although there wasn't words accompanied, but he felt the hands that held his tense, and as Dean finally managed to pry his eyes open, he was greeted by Sam's hazel eyes that locked immediately on his.

"Dean..." it was only this one word that was whispered breathlessly by Sam. But it was all that was needed.

...

John didn't know why he had come here.

It had been two days since that night. Two days for Dean fading in and out of consciousness. Two days since the doctor had told him he couldn't tell if Dean would make it. Two days since Sam had stopped speaking altogether. Two long days since he had lost his family, since he was left as an outsider looking in. Sam had refused to rest, had flinched from his touches, hadn't let him in. For the first time in his life Sam had shut him out. Enraged, rebellious Sam John could deal with. Fury always was better than this silence. At first he had stood at the hospital-room together with Sam, had tried to tell him that everything was going to be okay. That Dean was strong. That Dean would make it. But at some point the atmosphere had proved to be unbearable and he simply hadn't been able to take it anymore. Watching Sam wearing himself down as he refused to stay in bed. As he sat permanently beside his brother's bedside only to collapse on occasions in the hard plastic-chair to sleep for a few hours before he continued his vigil.

Now he stood there, looking, reliving those horrible moments a few days ago, again.

Remembered how he had woken up to find Sam and Dean huddled together in front of the alder, the dead creature pinned with the silver sword. Seeing Dean's skin almost translucent, no colour left, the shallow and fast rising and falling of his chest, blood trickling out of his mouth, Sam's head resting on Dean's shoulder, dazed eyes staring in the starlit night-sky, his youngest flinching and drawing away from him, as his hand tried to connect with the badly bruised face. Feeling the weight of his oldest as he lifted him up in his arms, not caring that it was in the middle of the night as he started through the forest, that Dean's condition couldn't wait for morning, that whatever had happened while he was out for the count, wasn't mending itself this time.

He remembered the drive to the small city, listening to Sam's quiet words of comfort, hearing Dean's breathing faltering, becoming more laboured, more forced, more gasping. Sam's agitation grew then, while he felt helpless, couldn't do more than continue to drive, slam his foot on the accelerator-pedal. Listening the wheezing breaths to become gurgles, hearing Sam's shout of panic, catching a glimpse of his sons in the rear-view-mirror... seeing the blood running freely down Dean's chin as Sam fought to keep him upright, to keep him anchored with his words. To keep him alive.

And then finally they were at the hospital, where Dean was ripped from his arms and scurried away.

John still didn't move a muscle, just stood in front of the alder, looking at the creature that, in its' death had turned into nothing more then bark, looking like scar-tissue on the tree. The alder itself was dying John could tell. The bark around the killed Sprite already turned greyish and a rotten smell lingered in the air.

Unholy ground.

The blood of the creature had been soaked up from the earth, and if you looked really hard you could already see death spreading in a circular pattern around the remains of the Sprite. Unholy ground.

"You stupid son of a bitch..." John ground out between clenched teeth, "A Sprite and a ghost. You got it all wrong, dragged your boys out here, unprepared, half-cocked..."

he stopped there, stopped his mind from wandering down the dark path of "what if's" or "what could have been's" and straightened his shoulders.

"Never again." he vowed, the words like a threat to the dead Sprite.

And as John slowly turned around, ready to leave, the wind freshened up around him, let the leaves whisper, and suddenly his thoughts drifted to his two sons he had left alone at the hospital.

_'I would give everything to give them a normal life...'_ he wished.

And behind him the Alder groaned and barky limbs twitched. Life ran again through tree and creature… Because they were born out of wishes and longings, but only those with a bitter-sweetness to their taste...

...

Epilogue:

He quietly opened the door, dread settling in the pit of his stomach and he stopped mid-movement as his eyes came to rest on the hospital-bed.

Dean was sitting propped up by pillows, his hand resting in the back of Sam's neck while Sam slept, his upper body resting on the bed and on Dean's lap.

Dean's eyes met his and John could read the reprimand in his son's look.

"Dean..." he whispered quietly.

"Why didn't you send him to rest?" his eyes returned to the charge on his lap, his hand that had rested in the crook of Sam's neck almost tenderly stroke through Sam's messed up hair.

"He didn't let me..." even in John's ears his words sounded like the ones of a petulant five-year-old.

"Did you even look at him? Dad?" Dean asked continuing with the soft motion through Sam's hair.

"He maybe grew, but he's still a kid. He's fifteen for god's sake! You can't just... leave him to handle something like... this." Dean lifted his free hand and made a soft waving motion through the room.

"You told me to keep him safe. And...where were you?"

John closed his eyes to not have to meet his oldest gaze for a moment.

"He didn't let me..." John repeated. "He... shut me out..."

"You did order him often enough to do things against his will. You could have ordered..."

"I'm losing him, Dean." John's words stopped Dean midsentence.

And their eyes met again as silence settled in the room.

"If you keep going like this, you sure will..." Dean's words were whispered. "Please, dad. Don't do that to him."

John quietly nodded and walked over to them.

"Sam?" he gently shook his youngest shoulder, wincing at the vivid bruising that marred Sam's face.

"C'mon buddy. You really need to rest." He felt his son's bleary eyes open and helped him to his feet.

"Wanna stay..." Sam mumbled tiredly.

"Go. Sleep Sammy. You look like shit." Dean supported his dad's words, his eyes twinkling although the smile didn't reach them.

"You sure? You gonna be okay?" Sam asked, suddenly fully awake, concern lacing his words.

"I'm fine moron. I'm looking better than you."

Sam rubbed his burning eyes.

"Okay... I guess..." he mumbled and then added. "Hey... that was an insult. Wasn't it?"

The light snort of laughter from Dean and his father was answer enough to Sam's question.

"Jerk..." he muttered.

"Bitch." Dean retorted.

...

"Dad?" the whisper stopped him from leaving.

"Hey Sammy. I thought you already were asleep." he answered in the same quiet tone.

"'m sorry..." Sam said.

"Sorry? Sorry for what?" John asked, returning to Sam's bedside.

"For... for not talking. I... I saw that you were worried... and... and... I just couldn't you know? I was confused and didn't know what to do. Other then to sit with Dean and... 'nd wait for him to wake up. But you were right, Dad. Dean's strong. And he's okay, right?"

Sam could see his father's eyes brighten.

"I know I've been an ass Sam. What has happened... it was all my fault." Seeing Sam about to interrupt he lifted a hand and stopped him before he said anything. "I... I really thought for a moment... there, in that hospital-room that I lost you. That you'd shut me out forever. And I couldn't bear it. Although I'm your dad and Dean's dad. I left you to handle this. Left you alone with this mess... when you had needed my help and... and this is something I can't undo. But it hurt, Sam. It hurt so bad, because I do love you two so much. And... whatever happens. I won't stand by to let either one of you die. I just won't. I rather give my life for you, because..."

His eyes bore into Sam. "I do love you two more than my own life."

_End_


	18. Silence Is Golden

_---- _

_**Scene writer: Emerald-Water**_

_**Responder: Soncnica**_

**a/n: So this is round three of WSS, and I got a sneaky little scene from a sneaky little writer called Emerald-Water....but I think I unsneaked *LOL* it and the story is what it is....hope you like it!**

_**Enjoy...**_

_**----**_

**Title: Silence**

The sun's first rays hit the leaves that reflected it in different shades of gold. He blinked up at the tree-tops, watching them sway in the soft breeze he could feel on his overheated skin while he lay there, trying to remember what had happened.

His mind came up blank, only snippets of feelings and memories that flashed up, too short for him to grasp and work with. The one thing that lingered, that was the most prominent and asked for his urgency was his brother. He needed to find him. He needed to find Sam. Dean didn't know what happened, but the nagging feeling that came with Sam and their latest hunt told him he had to hurry.

He stumbled to his feet, the world around him shifting, dancing a wild merry-go-round, letting him close his eyes tightly. What had happened? Why couldn't he remember? Suddenly the image of black, smoky eyes assaulted him and he forced his eyes open with a pant... It's dangerous to close your eyes!

-Sam!-

His heart missed a beat and then started to thump almost painfully against his ribcage. With dread he repeated his actions only to be greeted by silence again.

-SAM!-

And this time he was sure his lips had moved, had felt the vibrations in his throat, knew that he had screamed Sam's name for real, only that the silence remained.

Back was the merry-go-round as he suddenly couldn't get enough air into his lungs. He turned in a circle seeing the branches moving from the wind, felt the soft breeze on his face, but no sound made it to his ears.

-SAM!-

...

He stood frozen to the spot, eyes sweeping the forest as his head moved from his right to his left, trying to evaluate where the shout had come from.

As he heard his name echoing through the dense forest the next time he knew which direction to go and started to run. He had searched for hours now. Ever since... shaking off the thought he concentrated on the path he ran down, screaming Dean's name along and stopped as he made out the familiar figure having his back on him.

Dean!" His voice was a soft call now, relieve evident in the one word. His eyebrows scrunched as he waited for his brother to acknowledge his presence and to turn around. Walking slowly forward he called at Dean again.

„Dean!" A few steps separated him from his sibling as he watched with growing concern Dean's jerky movements. His head turned nonstop, left, right, up down as he continued to stumble forward at a slow pace.

„SAM!" Sam flinched at the raw and panicky shout of his name yet again. Something just wasn't right.

„Dean..." With a few fast steps he overcame the gap that separated him from his older sibling and put a hand to Dean's shoulder to stop him.

The reaction he got was fierce. Dean whirled around, arms raised to defend himself and stopped in his actions as he saw who the attacker was. Sam however couldn't suppress the sharp intake of breath at the first glance at his brother.

„Dean..." he whispered, voice barely a whisper.

-:-

"Dean?" Sam frowned at the panicked look his brother was sporting. Eyes wide, mouth open and panting…lost. His brother was lost, scared.

"Dean!" he shouted straight into Dean's face, but Dean just widened his eyes and frowned for a second, but the frown quickly became flicker of fear.

"SAMMY!!!" Dean shouted right at his brother, grabbing him by his forearms and feeling his way up to grab Sam's shoulders.

"Dean, hey man!!!"

Sam couldn't for the life of him figure out what had happened. What was wrong, why Dean wasn't…

He's deaf…

"Dean, can you hear me?"

He opened his mouth wide, emphasizing every word, hoping his brother could read what he said from his lips.

"Sam? I think...I think I can't hear."

Shit…

A few seconds passed between them, a few blinks and a few shifts of their eyes, before Sam found his voice again: "Dean, okay, okay, it's gonna be okay."

But not even he believed that. Dean was deaf and he couldn't do anything about it…not now…not here.

"Dean," he touched Dean's hands resting on his shoulder and patted him, "we'll fix this. Don't panic, okay?"

It was weird talking to his brother, not knowing if Dean can understand him.

But Dean nodded and closed his eyes, shoving the fear and panic back where it belonged.

"Okay, Sam…we have to kill the thing and then we'll figure this out"

"Dean, no!"

Sam placed his fingers under Dean's chin and lifted his head up, hoping that Dean would be able to read his lips.

"Dean, no!" he repeated, looking straight into Dean's eyes.

"No?!"

"No, we have to fix this…this, what happened to you."

Dean frowned…the silence was killing him. Not being able to hear anything, not being able to hear his brother's annoying voice, not being able to hear what whiny things Sam is saying and not being able to bitch back…it was killing him.

"We have to kill this thing, it's killed way to many people already. I'll let you fix me later, all right?!"

It was hard to talk, not knowing how loud he was speaking; not knowing if words were actually coming out of his mouth, but Sam seemed to hear him just fine, if the bitch face Sam was wearing was any indication.

Dean left nothing for discussion, nothing…and Sam could only nod and press his lips tighter together, making them look like a thin white line.

"Dean," he snapped his fingers in front of Dean's eyes, when Dean started to turn around, "how do you want to do this? You can't hear anything."

Dean frowned again…the frown was becoming a regular look on Dean's face, Sam thought and repeated what he said.

Dean saw Sam's lips moving, could figure out some of the words forming on his brother's lips, but some other words were just messed up. But he thought that he got the point just fine. Listening to your brother bitch and whine 24/7, teaches you a few things.

"Sam, you'll just have to be my ears." and he pushed Sam forward to lead the way.

It was unnatural…every sound was silence, every sight was silence, every step was silence, every breath he took was silence.

He followed Sam among the trees and a thought crossed his mind…a thought so quick that he only caught the tail of it…he missed Sam's voice. Even if he was hearing his brother's voice all the time, he couldn't remember how it sounded right now. He couldn't remember…couldn't remember his brother's voice.

"Sam…"

Sam spun around and crashed into Dean's chest: "Don't yell!" he mouthed out, and Dean frowned: "I whispered."

"You yelled!"

Dean rolled his eyes and pushed Sam forward: "I whispered."

Even deaf he could hear Sam huff.

The day turned into a sunny morning, hot and moist. The trees gave cover, gave little patches of coolness that hid in the shades…the breeze was warm, gliding over Dean's cheeks, his eyes glued onto Sam's back. He wished he could talk to Sam, and hear Sam talk back to him. He wished they would find the son of a bitch and kill it for doing this to him. Making him deaf, making him…incapable of doing his job.

Damn it…

He crashed into Sam's back, when his brother stopped. They were in a clearing, with sun at their back.

"Sam?"

Sam turned around and placed his hand over Dean's mouth so fast, Dean thought he was gonna have a stroke. Sam was good…a good hunter. Strong, quick.

Gotta give you that, Sammy…

"It's here." Sam mouthed and Dean nodded over the pressure of Sam's palm over his mouth.

He pulled at Sam's sleeve, wanting to know 'where'. Sam looked down at his sleeve and Dean's hand gripping it tight and understood instantly.

"I don't know. You stay here. I'll go check it out."

"What?" he breathed out, one hundred percent sure that he definitely whispered that.

"You stay here…here," Sam pointed his finger to the ground, "I'll go check it out." And pointed at the nearby bushes.

"You insane?"

"Dean…."

Dean didn't need to hear to sense the way Sam said his name there. He rolled his eyes and nodded.

He wanted to kill this thing, but he wasn't stupid; he knew he wouldn't be able to kill something if he couldn't hear it.

Sam disappeared into the bushes and Dean was left in the silence of the mid morning sun. Looking around him wasn't helping, wasn't helping at all. Everything was glistering, shining, quiet. And the quiet was getting on his nerves. He kept turning around, trying to get as much of the scenery into his eyes…you never know what hides behind you, in front of you, near you.

He wanted to yell for Sam, but that would just put his brother in danger.

Minutes passed, half an hour, an hour and Dean was pulling hair out of his skull. He couldn't hear a damn thing, couldn't find sound anywhere…he didn't even hear his breathing, his heartbeat…nothing.

But he could feel a heavy hand land on his shoulder, a big palm cup the right side of his head and tip it sideways. He could feel something being poured into his ear and he screamed and trashed, but whoever was holding him was strong…and quick…and…

Sam…

Whatever was being poured into his ear stunk. Like…cow manure…like a decaying body. And it was cold and oily and Dean gagged and tried to twist around and hit his brother…hit him hard. But Sam's grip was too strong…too strong even for him to get away from. And being deaf didn't help the matters any…his sense of orientation was messed up, and he could feel Sam's grip become even tighter, when he thought he was gonna fall flat on his face.

This hunt was just…not…what…he…expected.

The trees were starting to spin around him, Sam's hand on the side of his face a solid presence of a solid world, but the sky way spinning and the trees were spinning and his head was spinning and it tickled…the liquid…it tickled down his ear and he wanted to scratch at it, but knew that it was an itch no one could scratch.

And then his head was tipped right and the same oily stuff was poured into his left ear and the tickling doubled and he thought that the world went mad.

"'kay…en…ine…"

Broken words were sipping into his mind, sailing on the liquid that was still running into his ears.

"ou, 'kay…Dean…'s…ine…"

Still broken words with a broken voice, but Dean could feel something inside of his ears move; something that wasn't the oily liquid.

"You're, 'kay…Dean, 's fine…relax…"

"SAM!!!" he screamed when something in his ears popped; it felt like someone detonated a bomb inside both of his ear channels.

"Dean, 's okay…Dean…'s fine…calm down…"

The words were rushed, but they were there…he could hear them, could understand them, could feel them…spoken with his brother's voice…voice he thought he forgot how it sounded…it sounded scared and soothing.

The hand tipping his head sideways was warm on his face, and he shrugged it off when he could feel the liquid stop running. He twisted and turned out of Sam's grip and spun around to look at the smiling face of his little brother; his smirking little brother.

What the…

"Sam, what the…?!"

"Can you hear me?" he reached to grab Dean's shoulder, to look into Dean's ears, to asses the damage, but Dean jumped away, hitting his foot on a tree branch: "What the Hell ado you think you're doing!? Scared the crap out of me!"

"Had to do it fast, or else you would just bitch about it…couldn't have that" and he smirked.

"Where were you…for like an hour?"

"Had to kill it and drain it of its blood, stupid."

"You poured its blood into my ears? You insane?"

"Healed you, didn't it?"

"You knew all along, didn't you?"

"Yeah…"

"Hate you."

"Yeah, okay…'m too tired to argue."

Dean stumbled away from his brother; angry.

Sam chuckled: "Awwww don't be angry."

"Shut up."

Sam laughed.

"It was better when I couldn't hear you, bitch."

"Jerk."

Okay, so it was nice to hear Sam…it was nice to get a fresh knowledge about how his little brother's voice sounded like. Now if he could just stop bitching.

**---**

**The End**


	19. I Have These Dreams

**Winchester Single Shots: "I have these dreams, and sometimes they come true."**

**Summary. . . . . . . . Something dark is terrorizing Sam's dreams, but just who, or what is it? And will he be able to help himself when he finds out?**

**Sender. . . . . Dancerinthedark101**

**Responder. . . . . . . . Blue Peanut M and M.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . . So round three! Thanks have to go to dancerinthedark101 for the amazing scene. I know I probably went a different way to what you were thinking, but I hope that you like it all the same.**

Dean slammed the door behind him, rattling the worn window frames of Bobby's house, causing the older hunter's newest canine companion to lazily raise it's head off it's paws, yawning and looking at Dean contemptuously for disrupting it's sleep before rolling itself onto it's side and lowering it's head once more. Two weeks stuck here with an injured Sam, and Dean was just about at the end of his tether, and now with Bobby away, claiming that he desperately needed some new parts and would be gone a couple of days, that tether had frayed. Dean tensed as he heard the door creak back open, and the slow sluggish movements of his brother's sock clad feet dragging across the wooden floor. He started walking away even before Sam could ask, "where are you going Dean?" Not even bothering to reply, instead just clambering into the Impala and gunning the engine. He sent a silent apology his babies way, as he fishtailed and wheel spun his way across the gravel and out of the gates, sending sharp shards of stone and grit flying across the yard, Sam and the mutt both wincing as they were pelted. As the dust cleared and the noise of the v8 slowly ebbed away, Sam stood solitary, his head bowed, his mind fixed on the conversation that had just passed.

Dean's foot eased off the gas the further away from the yard, and Sam, he got. The intense anger he had been feeling towards his brother, slowly abating as the sounds of ACDC and Metallica melted his frustrations, only to rise again as he remembered Sam's words; words that had broken the tether all together. He pounded the steering wheel in rage as the words brought back visions of Sam diving in front of him, of Sam taking the punishment not meant for him, and why? Because of some misguided belief that he owed Dean something? Some misguided belief that he needed to be punished for something that was completely out of his control? Hadn't they gone over this after Meg? That Sam wasn't at fault for shooting him? Dean thought they had, he'd thought they had made peace, obviously he had thought wrong. Sam's words this morning confirming that. He needed a beer, needed something to dull the anger, surely somewhere in the world it was past noon. Pulling into the lot of a grungy rundown wooden bar, he climbed out, locked up, and entered.

Smoke, stale beer and sweat assaulted his nose as he pushed the door open, the smells just what he needed to banish the sounds and sights of Sam's body being ruthlessly thrown about the dusty decrepit room of their last hunt. Easing himself onto a stool at the bar, he signaled the waiter, his eyes roaming the L shaped room as he waited his turn to be served. For such an early hour the place was modestly crowded. Along the longest wall, two couples occupied the booths furthest back from the door, to Dean's mind both investing in sordid affairs. A man in a long black duster jacket, a hat pulled low over his eyes, rested at a table to the far side of the bar on the shortest wall. Three winos sat propping the bar up, three seats down from where he sat, their animated exchange of talk focusing on the previous nights football game. At the end of the bar a man stood, his posture speaking of harmlessness, his eyes though spoke otherwise, the dark orbs boring into Dean as he took the offered bottle from the tender. Taking a swig of the liquid, Dean placed the bottle down before looking the man's way again, only to find him gone. Glancing quickly around, a shiver ran down his spine, as no sign of him could be found. Pushing his feelings aside he picked his bottle back up, downed the rest of the beer and signaled for another.

Five beers and three hours later, Dean was beginning to feel the buzz, the high that alcohol always promised, yet as always it could never take him completely away, his thoughts still remaining on Sam's words, the last botched hunt, Sam's possession by Meg, and the memories it dredged up of his brother shooting him in the asylum. He tried to shake the thoughts from his head as he signaled the tender to bring him another. While he waited for the next ice cold beverage he stood, the need to relieve himself from all the accumulated beer pressing heavily on his bladder. With only the slightest of sways he made his way over to the washrooms, promising himself that after this one he would return back to the yard. Returning to the bar, his eyes scanned the place yet again, the couples had gone, as had one of the winos, the other two no longer talking as they fought to keep their drunken heavy heads from falling to he bar, the black clad man still remained, still unmoving, his beer untouched and still resting on the table in front of him.

As Dean took his seat, the hairs on the back of his neck rose, sluggishly he looked around, his eyes immediately catching sight of the black eyed man staring his way through the window of the door that led to what Dean presumed would be a store room. Passing the man off as being little more than a pest, Dean picked up his fresh beer and gulped half of it down. The promise of returning back to Bobby's vanishing, as almost immediately he began to feel less in control of his thoughts and feelings. Confused he looked down at his bottle, slightly alarmed as his hand moved as though in slow motion a ghostly echo trailing it's every movement. Finally able to grasp the glass neck he picked it up, his blurred vision just able to make out the traces of crystallized residue present around the rim before, with a loud thump and the smash of glass, both he and the bottle fell backwards off the stool. Dean was unconscious before he even hit the floor.

________________________________________________________________________

A deep, throbbing resonated throughout Dean's head as he struggled to regain consciousness, other feelings letting themselves be known as he fought his way through the layers of cob webs that clouded his mind. A deep seated cold had invaded it's way through his clothes to worm it's way into his body, shivers wracking his frame as it sat propped up against some back alleyway steps. Rain poured down from above, it's iciness only adding to the chill he already felt. Smells assaulted him, accentuating his already nauseated stomach, threatening to send his fragile organ overboard and raise the sickness that lurked inside; smells of urine and rotten food, of vomit and other things he didn't even want to think about. Trying to breathe through his mouth, he forced reluctant eyes open, confused for a moment as all he saw was darkness. He brought a heavy hand up to his face, rubbing wearily at his eyes, before trying again to open them, realization hitting him full on that it was in fact night, that he had lost many hours, that Sam would be back at Bobby's alone, unprotected, and probably stewing. Using the filth covered walls for balance, Dean struggled to his feet and waited for the world to stop spinning, taking tentative steps towards where he thought the Impala was, once it had done so sufficiently. He knew it would be a risk to drive, but it was only one short back country road with little to no traffic.

By the time he was pulling the Impala to a slow stop in front of Bobby's house, Dean was regretting his decision to drive back. Although it had been accident free, his head now pounded, a brass band seemingly playing a beat that mercilessly resonated behind his eyes. Not even bothering to lock up his baby, he sluggishly made his way over towards the front door, his feet dragging heavily across the mud and grit that littered the yards ground. Pushing open the heavy oak door, he forced his weary body inside, his energy nearly depleted, his feet trailing along the floor leaving muddy traces as he went. He thanked a god he didn't believe in when his eyes made out in the gloom, Sam spread across the couch, his brother oblivious, caught in a drug induced sleep. Making his way towards the kitchen, his mouth dry and arid, he turned on the tap and reached for a glass, guzzling greedily at the water, never seeming to quench the thirst no matter how much he drank. His body now uncomfortably full, Dean started for the stairs, hoping that after a trip to the bathroom, a good night's sleep would take away the lethargy he was feeling. Stopping on the bottom stair he looked back Sam's way and whispered. "Sweet dreams, little brother."

________________________________________________________________________

The large ornate clock, that spoke of feminine times past, stood guard over the virtually still room, it's hands ticking softly as they crept towards four am, the sound almost overshadowed by the soft moans that emanated from the sleeping form on the too small piece of upholstered furniture. Sam's head moved back and forth slightly as the dream took hold, his eyes rapidly, frantically moving around in their sockets beneath tightly closed lids, lashes clashing like drawn swords.

_Moving stealthily, cautiously through the corridors strewn with old papers and years of dust and mold, Sam's eyes and ears were trained to see or hear anything in the dark space that seemed amiss. He called his brother's name, the word sounding harsh and too loud in the otherwise silent halls. He stills as his flashlight picks up movement, only to relax as he realizes it is only dust motes rising, disrupted from their resting place by the shuffling of his feet. He calls again and again, yet still receives no answer. Panning the small beam around he attempts to see into every corner, every alcove. He turns back, wondering if in fact he had somehow passed his brother along the way. Turning back, he jumps as Dean's figure appears in front of him. "Why didn't you answer me?" He inquires, getting an answer in response that rushes past him, as he tries to explain what he had found. Moving further down the hall, he stepped into a room, it's smallness claustrophobic and oppressive after the vastness of the halls. He ignores Dean's protests about "having checked every where already" as he hears sound, bending towards where he thinks its coming from, only to rise quickly as he hears Dean's warning behind him. He spins round, the beam of his light picking out Dean's hard face and unfeeling eyes, the sawn off shotgun raised in his hand, his brothers nose starting to bleed. "Put the gun down" he asks, his mind not listening to the answer as he tries to figure a way out of this. He knows he's talking, can hear Dean's anger filled answers, but nothing is resolved. "What'ya gonna do Dean? The gun's filled with rock salt, its not gonna kill me!" He barely hears Dean's answer over the roar of the gun blast in the rooms small confines. "No, but it'll hurt like hell!"_

The feeling of someone pressing down on his chest broke through Sam's mind as the dream faded into oblivion, the pungent smell of gunpowder and rock salt tantalized his nose as he shot from the couch, gasping desperately for air, choking as agonizing pain erupted from his chest, the chokes soon turning to coughs; coughs that left him crying in distress as they shook his aching chest. Gradually gaining back control, he brought a shaking hand to his sternum, only to draw it away, wincing from the pain that radiated from just the slightest touch. Reaching gingerly over to the side table he switched on the lamp, pulling up his tee shirt as the room was bathed in a warm glow. Confusion registered on his face as he stared at the range of mottled bruising that littered his torso, little nicks and pock marks cut into the flesh in places. "What the hell?" He thought as he tentatively prodded at the damage. He stood, something catching his eye. Walking over to the mirror he gazed at his reflection, and at the imprint of a hand that lay amongst the discoloration.

Confused he stepped back from the mirror, his heart racing as he tried to come up with some reason as to what had happened, but no matter how hard he tried, he could think of nothing. Releasing his tee, he pulled it back down his frame, tucking the edge loosely into his sweats. Running a hand through his sweat soaked bangs, he shivered as snippets of the dream resurfaced. It had been a dream he had suffered through many a time after the incident, but never before like this, never before with himself as the one shot. Dean had shot him. He could still feel the shock, the hurt, and the surprise, as he watched Dean pull the trigger, his mind wondering if this was how Dean felt? If Dean had felt betrayed, confused, angry, cause at the moment he sure did. As he sat cautiously back down on the worn, yet comfortable couch, he felt agonizing pain radiate from his stomach, tears brimming his eyes as his mind thought back to just how much pain Dean must have felt, how he had sucked it up and refused aid from Sam in any way shape or form. Guilt ate away at him, numbing the pain slightly as it churned away at his insides, as he thought of the endless traveling, the hard motel beds, the hunts, yet Dean never once told him just how bad he actually felt. The least, Sam felt, he could do in return was to be the same way, even though deep down he knew in the end it could be a costly mistake.

Sleep evaded Sam for the rest of the night, his body protesting every position he found on the small couch. In the end he reluctantly rose, his eyes stinging with tiredness, his head throbbing from a mixture of lack of sleep, and worry, his body aching. Making his way slowly upstairs, he peeked in on his brother, relieved to see him sleeping soundly, if fully clothed on his bed. Silently easing his way further down the hall, he quickly used the bathroom before retreating back downstairs and entering Bobby's library, determined to find out by himself just what could have caused his dreams to come true. The throbbing in his head accentuated as he perused the dusty, crowded room, his heart sinking at the enormity of his task. He briefly contemplated ringing Bobby and asking for assistance, or even swallowing his pride and waking his brother, but the Winchester stubborn streak he was famous for, and the guilt he still felt, stopped him. Reading the crinkled, worn, spines of the tomes he stopped at one that dealt with dreams, pulling it out he sneezed as dust tickled his nose before dragging his tired body to the comfortable looking side chair and sitting down to research.

________________________________________________________________________

Dean woke slowly, his head objecting to even the slightest of movement. He attempted to crack open eyes heavy with sleep, slamming them back shut as the sun pouring through the opened blinds aggravated the drum solo that was taking place in his head. He breathed deeply to try to quench the rolling in his stomach, timidly rising from the bed once it had and gingerly making his way to the door, hoping that a shower would help to invigorate his body. Stepping into the bathroom, he clutched onto the sink as a wave of dizziness threatened to send him tumbling, sitting down on the tub's rim he turned the handle and released the spray. Standing back up he waited for the room to stop spinning before stripping off his sweat drenched, crumpled clothing, tossing them to the side before stepping under the scalding water, a moan of pleasure escaping from his lips as the muscles of his shoulders appreciated the warmth, releasing the tenseness that had gathered there, he stayed that way, his head bent, his arms pressed against the tile, until the water began to cool, reluctantly washing off all the dirt, sweat and grime before turning the faucet off and climbing back out.

Drying and dressing quickly, Dean made his way downstairs, his body now craving coffee and food. The closer he got to the kitchen, the more concerned he was that he couldn't smell a pot on the go, or the usual treats Sam had been making in an attempt to make things up to him. He pushed open the door wondering if Sam was feeling okay, his concerns rising when his brother was nowhere to be seen. Sam hadn't been in bed, Dean vaguely remembered his brother sleeping on the couch when he had stumbled in last night, he closed the door and made his way back towards the living room, he was sure Sam wasn't there when he passed by, but the way he was feeling, he could have been wrong. He called out Sam's name as he walked back, his anxiety increasing as the only response he received was the muffled sound of barking coming from outside. Dean stood on the threshold wondering just where Sam could be, surely he wouldn't have left without leaving a note. A note, maybe Sam had left one and he just hadn't seen it, wanting to check the fridge he turned quickly, the fridge though once he returned to the kitchen was bare. Dean dragged a hand through his short hair, the other slamming down on the counter top, just where was Sam?

He wracked his confused brain trying to figure it out, Sam wasn't upstairs, he wasn't down, he would never leave without telling Dean, so where was he? The library! Of course. Dean raced to the room, flinging the door open when he arrived, relief engulfing him as he caught sight of Sam sprawled out in Bobby's chair, an opened book balancing precariously on his knee, a couple of fingers keeping it there, his eyes closed. Panic briefly flared inside as Sam didn't even move an inch at his noisy intrusion, he rushed over to his side. Dropping to his knees, Dean's hand reached to Sam's neck, calmed and comforted when he felt a pulse throbbing steadily there, knowing that Sam was just sleeping. Feeling that Sam would be hungry when he woke, and wanting to make up for the crappy way he had treated him yesterday, Dean stood up; too quickly he thought, as pain flared through his head and his vision faltered, his knees buckling as the ground rushed up to meet him, darkness engulfing him before he even hit the floor.

________________________________________________________________________

Sam's hand twitched, the book falling to the floor with a thud, but neither man moved. Eyes fluttered between closed lids as the nightmare took hold, clutching him, engulfing him in it's grip, allowing him to hear, and smell, and see as if he were actually there. He gasped in a halting breath as the feeling of tightness on his chest returned, and the pictures in his mind cleared, the blurry fog evaporating and another hateful moment of his life was played out in vivid Technicolor.

_He cursed as he slowly made his way through the back door of the bar, only to stop as he watched Dean taunting Jo. Words registered in his head, "my Daddy shot your Daddy in the head," but it was the look of lust and malice upon Dean's face that hit home the worst. He knew if he didn't stop this now, his brother would do something he would never be able to live with. Stepping out of the door, his gun raised, Sam let himself be known. "I told you to kill me Sam. I told you I can't fight it. My head feels like it's on fire alright, Sam kill me, or I'm gonna kill her. Please you'd be doing me a favor. Shoot me. SHOOT ME!" Sam could feel Dean's rage, his anger, his fears portrayed in his voice, his own finger tightening on the trigger, his father's words ringing in his ears, "if you can't save him, you'll have to kill him." He stood there feeling the world crush down on his shoulders, feeling as though his life was about to end. Could he do this? Could he really kill his brother? Could he kill this monster he had become? He blinked as realization struck, he couldn't do this, he just couldn't. "No Dean, come on." He spoke, his gun dropping, his eyes unable to see the crushed look in his brother's own orbs, he turned as Dean spoke, ignoring the words about being scared, about being alone. Rooting in his jacket he pulled out the flask, turning quickly he flung the contents in Dean's face, guilt rising as he heard his brother's screams.."_

Awareness entered Sam's mind briefly and he fought against the hold the nightmare had on him. Sleep deprived, and injured, he was no match, his eyes barely opening before he found himself succumbing to the night terror once again.

_Haunting dimness assaulted his eyes as he stepped into the dockyard warehouse, dripping water and creaking wood adding to his unease. He turned, startled, as he heard footsteps heading away to his right, his own feet moving on a parallel line to match, his body low in an attempt to gain as much cover as possible. Shadows moving drew his attention to them as he stepped further into the room. Shouting out he asked, "Who are you?" Only to receive a cryptic answer in return. He asked other questions, not really listening to the answer, but trying to ascertain the whereabouts of Dean . The darkness seemed to grow and close in on him as his brother spoke, his words haunting Sam. It was right, he couldn't hurt the demon without hurting Dean, and that was something Sam just couldn't do. The sound of a door creaking slowly closed alerted Sam to his brother leaving, standing up he quickly followed. He crept along the warehouses edge, his senses alert, but all he could hear was the soft lapping of water, he tentatively peeped around the corner, seeing nothing he moved further into the light. He searched left and right, but Dean was no where to be seen. Moving cautiously towards the waters edge he glanced at the black depths, seeing nothing but ripples. The feeling of being watched brought the hairs on the back of Sam's neck up, and he slowly turned and faced the hardened features of his brother, his gun raised and ready. Searing hot pain erupted in his shoulder, a feeling of weightlessness briefly taking hold, before a harsh jolt to his system brought further pain, cold and darkness._

Sam could feel himself fighting to waken, fighting to withdraw from the nightmare that held him, feeling as though he was winning one minute only to be pulled back the next. Every time he was pulled back in he felt a sting and throb to his face, almost as if someone were hitting him repeatedly. As he felt agonizing pain radiate from his shoulder he jolted awake, his mind briefly feeling as though he was pushing someone off of him. He spluttered as water poured from his mouth, choking as he swallowed some of it, causing him to cough. He fought the darkness that encroached on his vision as agony sparked from his bruised and damaged chest, and new pains let themselves be known. Sagging spent back into the chair, his exhausted body willed him to let go, but something tickling down his face, and a wetness across his chest grabbed his attention and refused to let go. Bringing a weary hand up he touched at the site of the pain, his eyes staring at the crimson that coated his fingers as he drew them away, his addled brain trying to give reason to what he was seeing.

"Sam? What the hell? What happened?"

Sam's eyes were drawn away from the blood and down to the floor where Dean's form still lay, weary and confused he asked. "Dean? Dude, what are you doing on the floor?"

"I don't know. Sam, what happened to your face? And why are you bleeding from your shoulder?"

At a loss for words, Sam could only stare at the blood that was gradually drying on his fingers. "Dean, what's going on?"

________________________________________________________________________

Dean tried to steady his shaking hands as he dug around the bloody tear in Sam's flesh, his mind confused as he pulled out the bent bullet that had caused the rent. "So you say you never left the house! That you dreamt this?" He asked incredulously, his face betraying the doubt he felt.

"Yes Dean! I told you I was here all the time. I must have fell asleep while I was researching and I woke up like this."

"And you dreamt of the time that you were possessed? Only this time I was?"

"Yes! Just like I did last night."

"Woah! Woah! What do you mean last night?"

Sam paused, cursing himself for his lapse.

"Sam!"

"I had a dream last night too."

"And?"

"And I dreamt we were back at the asylum."

"And?"

"And you were possessed by Ellicott."

"And?"

"And you shot me in the chest with rock salt. I woke up with bruises and cuts littering my chest. It's weird Dean, cause every time this has happened, I've woke up feeling as though someone is there with me, pressing down on my chest. I did some research and I think it's the dream demon, probably Nybbas. But that can't be, how would he have gotten through the wards?"

Dean rubbed at his face with his hand, his eyes flicking briefly Sam's way before they turned to stare at the wound that still pumped out blood in a slow trickle, the movement mesmerizing him. He reached out to touch the flow, his fingers digging cruelly into the raw flesh as he turned his black eyes back Sam's way. Ignoring the screams that tore their way from Sam, he pressed and prodded harder as he spoke. "I got Dean here to remove one or two, just enough to allow me in. Now that you've figured out who I am I don't need to hide in these foolish dreams anymore, and the fun can really begin." Bringing his hand back, the demon clenched his fist before slamming the limb into Sam's face, the young hunter falling into unconsciousness.

________________________________________________________________________

Sam fought his way back to consciousness feeling confused and in a world of pain. Was this all a dream? Was it a nightmarish hell? Or was Dean actually possessed? He really wasn't sure, and that thought scared the living daylights out of him. He tried to bring a hand up to wipe at the blood and sweat that was accumulating in his eyes, blurring his vision; only to find that he couldn't, the limb restricted, tight bonds encircling his wrists, the coarse rope cutting off circulation and digging viciously into the tender skin. Bringing up both hands, he rubbed at the moisture and blinked his eyes rapidly desperate now to see his surroundings. Although still in Bobby's library, the room was now dark, the only light coming through the dirty windows from the full moon outside. Sam was no longer sat in the comfy reading chair, but lying bound on the hard wooden floor, the bruises he had accumulated screaming in agony. He looked anxiously down at his feet, thanking whoever was looking over him that his feet were left loose. His eyes skirted around the cluttered room hoping to catch sight of his brother, hoping that he could still be dreaming all of this, yet more and more believing that he wasn't.

Painstakingly he rolled onto his side, biting back a groan of agony the movement resulted in, his eyes scouring the room in the hopes that he was alone. Soft snores coming from the couch placed against the far wall though told him otherwise. He knew that he had to a way to get free, that he had to get as far away from Dean as possible; but with his battered, bruised and exhausted body he had to wonder if that would be possible, but he knew he had to try, he was a Winchester after all, and Winchester's didn't stay lying on the floor waiting to die, they fought and battled their way to freedom. Slowly and with great care he began to ease his aching body up off the floor, biting his lip in an effort to take his mind off the pain even the slightest movement created. Once sitting he maneuvered his legs so that they bent at the knee and rolled so that he was sat on his haunches. He waited, listening for any difference in Dean's breathing, trying to slow his own as his equilibrium faltered sending waves of nausea rolling around his stomach and threatening to send him crashing back down to the floor. Finally when he felt that Dean was still sleeping, and sure enough in himself, he carefully stealthily began to clamber to his feet.

Groggily he struggled, shuffling his way out of the room and towards the kitchen, each step accentuating his new aches and reawakening old ones, sending agonizing stabs of pain to every inch of his body with every step he took. By the time his fingers brushed along the cool surface of the refrigerator, he was covered in sweat, and trembling profusely; his body desperately wanting to shut down, to rest, to sleep, but he knew that the respite would be a long time coming, that he had to keep moving. He pulled open the drawer that he knew Bobby kept his knives in, his face contorting in a cringe as the old wood creaked and squeaked on it's rusty runner. He stopped and listened again, thankful once again when it seemed Dean still slept on. Pulling out a knife he made quick work of the ropes, before picking up his phone from where he had left it and making his way to the back door.

Sam breathed heavily as he stepped out onto the porch, the cool night air calming his frayed nerves somewhat as he tried desperately to come up with an answer, some way to break the hold the demon had on his brother. He blundered his way to the end of the porch and down the few rickety steps to the gradually drying earth of Bobby's yard, his fingers shakily dialing a number into his phone as he did so. Feeling open and exposed he painstakingly made his way over to the stacks of junkers that littered the small space and found a hiding place amongst them, Bobby's rusted chain link boundary fence and dense woods behind with in Sam's sight. He sighed in relief as the number he had dialed didn't go straight to voicemail, instead connecting to the other unit and beginning to ring. He could feel tears begin to well as the thought that help was close at hand began to take hold, the tears falling freely as a gruff voice eventually answered with a curt "Singer!" About to reply Sam stopped himself as he thought he heard a noise coming from the house. Pushing off the rusted metal frames he began to hobble for the fence, hoping to be able to hide amongst the dense foliage that lay behind it, not hearing Bobby's shout of his name down the line as Dean's irate yell drowned it out. Sam cried out in anguish as the fence loomed up large before him, not thinking he had the strength to make it over, part of him wanting to just give up, give in and collapse into the darkness that kept creeping in on him. He grabbed onto the fence as his knees buckled and waited for the black eyes of his brother to return.

________________________________________________________________________

Dean raged inside of his own body as memories assaulted his mind as the demon slept; memories of the pain and torture the demon that controlled him had inflicted upon Sam. Awake but helpless he had been subjected to his worst nightmare as he had watched from the inside as the demon forced images into Sam's mind, as he watched the wounds inflicted appear as if out of nowhere, as he watched Sam awake confused and looking to him for guidance, for explanations. He remembered the anger he had felt as the demon used his voice to talk to Sam, as he remembered shouting for all he was worth from the inside, yet knowing he could not be heard. He remembered how he had been made to watch as Sam's face took on a look of incredulity, remembered as his own hand swung forward and slammed into his brother's disbelieving face, how he had cruelly pulled and dropped Sam's broken body from the chair and to the floor, how he had savagely tied Sam's hands together. He'd fought, god how he had fought; screaming and battling for all he was worth, yet nothing he did could break the hold the demon had over him, and the effort had left him spent and in his own world of pain.

He tensed as he felt the beast begin to awaken, apologies that would go unheard slipping from his lips for the wounds he was about to inflict. He cried out in agony as he felt the demons ire, his mind trying desperately around the pain to figure out what was wrong. A happiness he had never felt before engulfing him as he realized that somehow Sam had managed to escape. He started laughing, infuriating the beast that controlled him and causing himself untold amounts of pain as punishment, but he couldn't stop. As he felt his own awareness begin to ebb as the demon took back full control, he willed Sam to be strong enough to win; to be strong enough to figure things out. The demon though, wanting to punish Dean for Sam's defiance, couldn't help but gloat as he took over. "I will find him. I will punish him. He will die thinking you hated him. He will die with your face covered in his blood the last thing he sees."

An angry cry of "Sam" left the demon lips as he started his search for the youngest Winchester. Leaving the library he began to make his way around the house, stopping his search as he entered the kitchen and saw the tattered remains of the ropes he had used to bind Sam's hands. Rushing to the door he harshly yanked it open, allowing the old wood to bang closed behind him as he entered out onto the porch. He closed his mind and opened his senses in an attempt to hear any slight noise that could possible indicate which way Sam had gone, but all was quiet. Moving to the rickety steps he stood, his voice mocking as he shouted out "Oh Sammy! Where are you?" and received the information he needed, as a scuffling of feet across sandy gravel sounded out from his left amongst the tall columns of broken frameworks. He set off at pace using the light of the fill moon to guide him, an overwhelming feeling of success consuming him as he felt his goal was in sight. He turned one way and then another, his astonishment that Sam could even make it this far, leaving a feeling inside him he rarely felt; pride. As he turned the last corner to where he believed Sam to be hiding, that pride turned to fury as the aisle turned out to be empty, the only clue that Sam had even been there, a small snag of his shirt caught in the barbed wire at the top of the chain link fence, softly blowing in the breeze. "Sammy!! You better run, I will find you!"

________________________________________________________________________

As soon as he had battled his way over the fence and into the forest, Sam had realized his mistake, his feet sinking into the boggy like ground, increasing the stress on his body with every step he took. He stubbornly carried on, battling his way through the swamp like substance and gradually entering deeper and deeper into the tightly packed trees. He silently sent out a prayer as he finally reached a muddy trail, now he just had to hold on, just had to put as much distance between him and Dean until Bobby arrived, just had push aside his aches for now, just had to keep running.

Running. That's all he was focused on, his boot-clad feet hitting the ground hard, the mud beneath squelching as too much pressure was placed upon it. His breath was coming out in pants, chest tightening every so often as he struggled to get in a deep breath. The intense, biting agony of his wounds requiring more air than his restricted lungs could capture. The urge to stop and have a rest was getting worse with every couple of steps, but he couldn't stop. If he did… it was all over.

Branches flung out their brown tendrils at him as he ran, scraping wounds across his pale flesh, crimson blood welling up from the cuts and trickling down his skin. Chancing a quick glance behind him, he didn't notice the spindly fingers of tree branches waiting to ensnare him in their trap. He let out a slight scream as one raked its sharp claw over his right eye, effectively blinding him momentarily as his blood ran free.

The light shining from the full moon bathed the forest in eerie light as he tripped and fell to the ground with an unmerciful thump. Ankle twisting beneath him, he started to scrambled backwards across the uneven earth, his heart thumping in his chest as he heard movement close behind him. Breathing hard, bloody and exhausted, he looked up into the possession-black eyes of his brother and willed it all to be over, willed it to be quick. He no longer cared about himself, he just knew that if he should die here tonight, and that thought was looking more and more likely, Dean would never forgive himself; and that hurt Sam more than any cut or bruise ever could.

He scooted across the muddy, rotting foliage his fingernails quickly gathering dirt and grime beneath the beds, as his hands dug deeper in an effort to gain more purchase; his boots slipping and sliding across the wet mess. A cry escaped his lips as his back viciously slammed into the rough bark of a tree, his escape halted, no where else for him to go, and no more strength in his damaged body. He looked up again at the black eyes that glinted from Dean's face and whispered. "Just make it quick."

"But where would be the fun in that Sammy boy? And you know how much Dean lives for fun! I think I'm gonna have to turn down your request, it is a bit selfish after all. Just because you don't want to play, doesn't mean that Dean here should have to miss out. No, I think we shall have to have a long, long playtime now Sammy, I can tell you Dean is itching to go." He laughed then maliciously as he heard Dean's screams of anger, and witnessed Sam's look of horror. "Shall we begin?" He asked, the knife Sam had used to cut his bonds appearing in the demons hands. "Where do we start? A wound to the leg? Or how about the stomach? No, no, I have a much better idea, how about we carve up that pretty little face of yours? Now that sounds like a plan!"

Sam tried to make himself as small as possible, tried to mold himself into the trees that surrounded him, as the demon stepped closer and closer. He tried to bat the knife away as it inched closer to his face, gaining a new wound across his arm as a result. He flinched as the demon grabbed his hair, cried out in pain as his head was roughly thrust into the uneven bark of the trees trunk effectively silencing his fight back, splinters of wood imbedding themselves in his hair, and darkness encroaching on his vision. He could only watch stunned as the knife aimed for his cheek, a scream falling from his lips as the sharp blade dug deep. As the darkness that had been flittering on the edges took him completely, Sam could only listen as the demon began to laugh before choking as a new voice rang out in the night.

________________________________________________________________________

Bobby sang along to an old sixties song that played quietly in the cab of his truck; the tension of the past two weeks having abated after spending two days away from the Winchester brothers, leaving him now feeling refreshed and ready to referee whatever battle lay ahead between Sam and Dean. He smiled as he thought about the two boys he had grown to love dearly, both so alike in their ways, yet both refusing to believe just how alike. Both would die for the other, both would place themselves in danger every time to prevent the other from getting hurt, both were as stubborn as their Father used to be. This latest hunt had been hard on both boys, Sam physically, Dean mentally, yet rather than air their grievances, as usual both had clammed up and allowed the gripes to fester and consume them. In the end the petty bickering had become too much for Bobby, and feeling like a stranger in his own home, like he was caught between a rock and a hard place, he had felt the need to leave, to get away for a few days, to find a little bit of peace and quiet.

He just hit the town's borderline, his thoughts straying towards spending a night in his own bed, when his phone rang ominously beside him on the seat. Turning down the music even more, he picked up the device and looked at the screen, his stomach clenching, the weariness of the past two weeks returning as it registered Sam's name and he thought the boys were fighting again, pressing the green button he answered with a curt "Singer" the weariness disappearing almost immediately as Sam refused to answer, and he could hear Dean's wild, angered shout of "Sammy" in the back ground. He shouted the youngest Winchester's name again in an attempt to gain his attention, dismayed when he heard a thud like a body hitting the ground, and Sam's panicked, defeated voice begin to whisper. "I can't take anymore, please leave me alone." Fear raged deep within Bobby now, his foot automatically pressing harder on the gas as he strove to get home quicker, all the while trying anxiously to break through to Sam, relief nearly causing him to crash as finally a tired and hurting voice answered. "Bobby?"

"Yes son, what's happening? What's going on?"

"Bobby?" Sam asked again, his tone confused and pain filled. "Dean, he's. . . . . . ."

"He's what Sammy?" Bobby asked as Sam suddenly went silent on him. "He's what?" He asked again as he still received no answer, his mind wondering if Sam had accidentally dropped the phone, until he heard a confession that sent chills down his spine.

"He's possessed." Sam's voice whispered out, Bobby hearing the rattling of his chain link fence, before the line went dead.

"Awww crap!" Bobby shouted out as he quickly dialed Sam's number back, not surprised when it went straight to voicemail. He tried Dean's number hoping that Sam was just delirious, but yet again the answering service kicked in. Even trying his own house number produced nothing more than a constant ringing tone, indicating to Bobby that what Sam had spoken was in fact the truth. With no regard for his own safety he pushed his old truck harder, needing more than ever to get home.

________________________________________________________________________

The moon was high in the sky as he finally turned into the yard, a mere ten minutes after his call from Sam had cut out, his trucks wheels kicking up dirt as he skidded to a stop in front of his house; a house that sat worryingly dark, and foreboding. He stepped cautiously from the cab and slowly made his way towards the front door, a bottle of holy water in one hand, his gun poised and ready in the other, he didn't expect anyone to be inside, but he still wanted to be prepared. As he entered his expectations were confirmed as only the ticking of his numerous clocks broke the otherwise still and silent house. Making his way to the library his fears for Sam's, and Dean's, safety increased as he noted the mess that littered the floor, and still drying blood droplets that twinkled in the moonlight. He made his way quickly to the shelves, trying his best to ignore just how much blood there was, and pulled down one of his oldest tombs, flicking through the dry parchment until he found the incantation he needed. Marking the page, he quickly made his way through the house, following the trail Sam had unknowingly made.

The climb over the rusted metal fence had taken longer than Bobby would have liked, his old limbs not a sprightly as they used to be; the trek through the muddy swamp causing cramps to spring up in his thighs as he used muscles he never knew he had, but still he plodded on, his fears for both brothers pushing him to keep going. He slowed his pace as he hit the trail, if his plan was to work it would all rely on stealth. His blood turned cold as he heard Sam scream just ahead, his stomach rolling as he turned a corner and saw just how hurt the younger sibling was, as he watched as Sam's head was viciously thrust into the unforgiving bark of a redwood. He stepped forward with a confidence he didn't feel and thumbed the lid off the bottle of water, before flinging the contents onto the older sibling, Dean's body rearing in anger and pain as the holy water caused agony for the demon that lurked inside. Bobby struck again and again hoping to weaken the demon enough to be able to chant the exorcism. As Dean's body fell to it's knees he started.

"Somnium quod obscurum satar, moestitia quod poena addo, verto ex is vultus. Licentia is somes quod animus. Inficio is vita haud diutiius. Addo lux lucis tergum ut obscurum. Addo animus tergum ut somes."

He stood back as the demon began to scream out in anger and pain, a thick plume of black smoke pouring from Dean's mouth as it finally released it's hold. As Dean dropped to the floor, Bobby wanted to rush over and help but he knew that his task was only halfway finished. He stood still, his body poised and ready to move at a moments notice, as he waited for the demons true form to show itself. A crack of fragile twig to his left signaled the beast's arrival, his eyes staring at the dense foliage as he watched them slowly part and a human like form enter the small enclosure. Bobby shuddered at the evilness that emanated from the being, it's form hidden beneath a long black duster jacket, it's face covered by a bowed head and a wide brimmed black hat. Bobby took an involuntary step back as it's head began to rise allowing him the see the pasty white features beneath and lidless dark eyes, mesmerized for a minute by the sight Bobby forgot the need to finish the chant for a moment until a groan coming from Dean broke the spell, throwing the rest of the water over the demon he proceeded to banish it.

"Reverto, reverto, reverto." He paused as the demon roared, flinging it's arm out and mentally throwing Bobby into the bushes behind him, still the words fell from Bobby's lips. "Reverto ut illiac qua incendiary saevio. Inficio is terrs haud divtius." Bobby struggled to get the few remaining words out as he felt an invisible hand clench around his throat. As the demon stood over a still out cold Sam, Bobby's resolve was heightened, his voice strong as he shouted out, "Reverto, reverto, reverto," and a blinding flash of red lit up the whole area, a blast of air shaking trees in it's wake. As the leaves settled once more Bobby looked around the clearing, happy to see that only Sam and Dean's prone bodies lay there.

He forced himself up, moving to Dean's side as he was the closest, his fingers checking his neck for a pulse, pleased when one thumped strong and steady beneath his fingers. He shook the older sibling's body, hoping to gain a response, knowing that he would need Dean's help to carry Sam back to the house, he breathed out deeply as Dean responded with a groan, his eyes fluttering beneath his closed lids. Patting his cheek again, Bobby spoke words of encouragement as he urged Dean back to consciousness, the words and the persistent tapping finally began to work as Dean's eyes opened and looked the elder hunter's way, Bobby almost reeling back in shock as he witnessed the guilt and remorse that shone brightly in the green orbs. As Dean's head began to lower as he tried to hide his shame from him, Bobby lifted it by the chin and spoke again his voice, this time, stronger.

"Don't you even try to blame yourself for this boy, this wasn't your fault. Now Sam's hurt, and it looks bad. I need your help to carry him back, are you gonna sit there feeling sorry for yourself? Or are ya gonna help me?"

Although Dean knew that Sam was hurt, hearing it from Bobby's mouth was all the incentive he needed to break free from his feelings, he knew he would no doubt feel bad again later, but for now Sam needed help, needed him, and Dean was loathe to hurt his brother anymore than he already had. He scrambled up onto his knees and accepted Bobby's offer of a hand up as his legs began to buckle under his weight, his body reminding him of the drugs he had been given, and the alcohol he had consumed. Once steady he quickly made his way over to Sam, his heart breaking and tears springing to his eyes yet again as he witnessed just how much damage his younger sibling had sustained. He reached out with shaky fingers for Sam's wrist, not happy with the slow lethargic beat he felt beneath the skin, or the heat that burned to the touch from his brother's body. Looking up at Bobby, Dean's eyes begged for advice, for help, his mind momentarily blank.

"It'll be hard going, but I don't see any other way, we're gonna have to carry him out of here."

"But. . . . . . that'll hurt him even more." Dean replied, the feelings of guilt returning, his eyes going wide at the thought of more pain for his brother.

"And staying here could kill him!" Bobby stated, the need to bring Dean out of this slump he kept falling into making him shout a bit angrier than he meant. "Dean, he needs help, he needs a bed and to be cleaned up and medicine. Now be a Winchester and help me before it's too late."

________________________________________________________________________

Dean sighed as he watched Sam sleeping restlessly on the bed to the side of him, caught in yet another nightmare that had haunted him ever since they had returned to Bobby's house. Walking over, he rinsed out a cool cloth and wiped at the sweat that poured down Sam's face from the fever that had taken a strong hold of his ravaged body, Sam settling down as the comforting coolness was applied. As Sam's breathing evened out signaling to Dean that he was deeply asleep once again, he thought back over the past few days and all the things that had happened. Bobby had explained about Nybbas, how he had obviously drugged Dean before possessing him; how he had made Dean remove the wards that protected the house; how he had forced Dean to help as he plied Sam with vicious and cruel images; how he had forced Dean to watch as he beat and shot his helpless brother. Dean had been consumed with guilt and remorse as Bobby spoke, the older hunter, realizing just what his words were doing to the eldest Winchester, stopping before adding that there was nothing that Dean could have done to prevent it, that he too had been a victim, just as Sam had been.

It hadn't helped Dean though and he found himself forgoing any aid or assistance, refusing to sleep or eat, as he tended to his ill brother. Although none of Sam's injuries had turned out to be serious, the combination of them, the ones received from their previous hunt, and Sam's trek through the swamp had resulted in a fever that had only last night broken, and a body so totally exhausted it had shut down in order to recuperate. Dean sat on the edge of Sam's bed as he wrung the cloth out again, his own heavy tired head dropping to his chest as his own weariness threatened to take him under. He ran a hand over his eyes before resting his chin in his palm, his mind a whirl of all the things he needed to say, his gaze filtering slowly back to his brother, his mouth dropping open as two glazed, heavy blue brown orbs stared intently back at him, and a soft raspy voice spoke up.

"Hey." A fit of coughing broke out from Sam as his dry throat irritated him.

Dean reached for the glass of water he had on stand by, his own voice quiet and unsure as he replied. "Hey Sammy, you need anything?"

"No, I'm good. Not your fault." Sam whispered as his body tried to take him under once again. "Not your fault. . . . . . . Don' blame ya." He managed to croak out as he fought against his heavy eyes. "Demon. . . . . . Fault. . . . . Not you."

"Sammy." Dean ground out in reply. "Don't do this. Don't try and make me feel better. I shouldn't have let him take me. I should have fought harder to prevent this. No matter what you say, this is my fault. I just hope someday you'll forgive me."

"Won't forgive you, nothing to forgive. Not your fault Dean, just like… wasn't mine with Meg."

"Sam, how can you say that? Look at yourself! You're a mess because of me."

"Because of demon. . . . . . .not because of you. . . . . . . . .not your fault De. . . . . .you have to believe me, please." Sam turned his eyes Dean's way, a force he never knew he had emanating from them and burying itself deep in Dean's heart. As he witnessed the trust and love that shone from his brother's eyes, Dean's guilt began to ebb away, he knew he would never really ever forgive himself for what he had done, but he knew Sam did and for now he was content with that. He watched as Sam's eyes finally lost their battle to stay open and he drifted off to sleep once more. Pushing his brother's stray bangs back into place he whispered an "I love you" before turning to return to his own bed, tears forming in his eyes as he just about made out Sam's return reply.

"I love you too."


	20. Right Here Waiting for You

_So this is my third round Winchester Single Shot contribution. This was a story idea by a fan of Sammygirl1963. I took her request on and she wrote the scene herself. Look for a sequel that will be posted on my profile. Hope you all like it and especially you like it Valerie (Hotshow)._

_Scene written by Hotshow_

_Response written by Vonnie836_

Right Here Waiting For You

As Bobby and Dean sat going through the research on their latest hunt, they couldn't help but keep a watchful eye on Sammy. The kid had been in a funk ever since the death of his girlfriend Jessica. Dean had become so worried that he took them to Bobby's place to try and get Sammy's mind off of things. He had hoped being around Bobby would give Sam the motivation he needed to start living again. But things didn't work out as he had planned, instead all Sammy wanted to do was sit out on the porch swing and gaze off into the distance, not really paying attention to much of anything. After a few days of Sammy not eating or sleeping much, Bobby and Dean came up with what they thought would be the perfect plan. Sammy needed to do an easy salt and burn, one that wouldn't require too much of their time to complete. Hopefully it would get Sammy back into the swing of things so to say and he would come out of that funk that he was currently in. "Ya know, I think this will be the perfect hunt for Sammy. From all accounts, the spirit haunting the DeLucio House was a gentle soul. The lore says that Louisa DeLucio died of a broken heart when her husband went out to buy her some flowers but never returned since he was killed in a drive by shooting while paying for the flowers." Bobby informed Dean as they went through the newspaper articles sitting in front of them. "Jeez Bobby, have you seen this picture of her husband Antonio. He looks a hell of a lot like Sammy. They could almost pass for twins." Dean stated as he picked up the picture of the two of them together from their wedding announcement. "Dang sure does. That sure is one hell of a coincidence isn't it?" He said as they both shrugged it off not really thinking anything abut the resemblance. "Why do you think Louisa decided to hang around? You would think after dying she would want to go to Antonio and be with him." Dean stated perplexed. "Well, people say that since Antonio was shot in the face with an exploding bullet, it left him pretty much unrecognizable and until her dying day, Louisa didn't believe that it was him. So she sat and waited for the day when her true love would return home." Bobby answered. "Well okay, let's see if we can talk Sammy into going on the hunt. Get ready old man, I'm going to need your help convincing him that he needs to do something beside sitting around and moping." Dean smirked. "Old man my ass; I could take you any day boy." Bobby growled without maliciousness knowing that Dean was just trying to irk him.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Sam was sitting in the same spot he had been all day and the day before and the day before that. Matter of fact it was the same spot he had been sitting in for the last five days, ever since they arrived at the salvage yard, leaving it only to shower, use the bathroom and pretend to eat or sleep. The swing on Bobby's front porch had become his magical getaway, the one place he could escape to and feel safe. No one could intrude, which was strange because it was really a two person swing and there were occasions when either Bobby or Dean would sit down beside him, trying to talk and convince him to do other things.

Ever since Jessica died things had been out of control for him. It was like someone had pulled out the rug from underneath his feet, only the rug was never ending and the person kept pulling and pulling and pulling, not giving him a chance to get up or even lie down. The only thing that kept him going was his brother. Dean was the one that saved him, who kept him in line.

It was difficult, even for him, to describe the emotions that surged through him. Losing Jess by itself was the hardest thing he ever faced, with exception of leaving his father and brother the way he did. Losing her the same way he did his mom, knowing he might have been able to prevent it by paying more attention to his nightmares, made him feel responsible for her death. There was no doubt in his mind Jess would have never died, if he just would have ignored her that first day in the café, would have ignored his need to see her again, would have never allowed himself to fall in love with her. The sad thing was that this was the one thing even Dean couldn't deny it. Sure, he tried, told him it wasn't his fault, it was destiny, but Sam knew Dean just tried to make him feel better.

And then there was their father's disappearance, the reason why his brother came to him in the first place. No matter what they did, no matter where they went, there was no trace of John Winchester, only occasional coordinates for hunts texted to them, something that didn't even prove the man was still alive. Anyone could have taken possession of his phone. Well, maybe not anyone, but the possibility existed nonetheless.

For the last two plus years the youngest Winchester had pushed the guilt over leaving his family in the darkest corner of his mind, just to have it come back at him like a bullet, tearing through him with all its explosive power. Sure, he wanted a normal life, wanted what most other Americans had every day, but he did understand his father's need to kill the creature who murdered their mother, to keep other people from facing a similar fate. At least he thought he did. It was never his intention to totally leave hunting behind but there was just no middle ground for the head of their family. His father telling him, if he would leave he could never come back had forced him to make a choice that he wished he never had to make. He never regretted choosing college but he did regret not choosing his family.

All this time he had hoped to find a way to reunite with them, especially Dean. Buying that engagement ring and planning to propose to Jess had been what he hoped would be the way back. Not that he wouldn't have proposed to his beautiful girlfriend anyway; but he was certain, if John would have met her, he wouldn't have been able to resist her charm. Sam actually had made plans for a future that included Jessica, kids, him being a lawyer and a relationship with his father and brother. He even included taking part in some of their hunts; after all, he was a Winchester.

Yet things didn't even come close to any of his dreams and now he was left with all of his hopes crushed, his life destroyed and no tears left to cry.

SN SN SN SN SN

The youngest Winchester was so lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice his brother coming out of the house and sitting down beside him. Dean sat for a moment, thinking about how many times since they got here, he had done this exact same thing to the younger man without him realizing it. It worried him because in their business alertness could mean the difference between life and death. Finally he gently put his hand on Sam's shoulder. The hunter jerked before his eyes started to focus and his head turned towards his brother.

"Sammy, we need to talk."

"What about?" There was a slightly confused look to the young man's expression.

"I got a hunt for us." Dean explained.

"A hunt? I thought we came here to take a break, relax."

"Well, there is a slight change in plans. Bobby found this hunt in Chicago. Chick lost her husband in a drive by and died of a broken heart, has been haunting their place ever since."

The other Winchester shook his head, then said, "Can't Bobby find someone else? I really don't feel like it right now."

"Oh come on Sammy." Dean encouraged him, "It will be fun. It's just a simple salt and burn. Bobby found the cemetery and even a map where her grave is located. You don't even have to do anything, just be there, Bobby and I will do all the work."

Seeing the longing look in his brother's eyes, a slight smile appeared on Sam's face, "Alright, when do we leave.

He knew hunting was Dean's life. After bringing him here to take a break, there was no way he could refuse the older man.

SN SN SN SN SN

The rest of the day the three men spent checking and cleaning their weapons. Although neither one expected any problems, it was too ingrained into them to never neglect their tools. A hunter never knew what he could come up against at a moments notice.

Sam took part in the task and even tried to participate in the conversation but it was clear that his heart wasn't in it. Several times the two older men exchanged worried glances, clearly questioning if this hunt really was the right thing to do. So when after dinner Dean decided to go outside and make sure his baby was ready for the trip also, Bobby followed him. The seasoned hunter had to smile at this, after all the oldest Winchester had spent several hours in the last two days to change the oil, check all fluid levels and make sure the engine was purring like a lion after a great meal.

Standing beside the younger man, he said, "You sure we are doing the right thing here?"

Dean didn't look at him as he concentrated on checking the brake fluid level, "Maybe not, but I've got to do something to get him out of this. Look at him, any other time he would be on the computer, doing research, making sure we didn't miss anything, now he is getting ready to go to bed. It's not even dark yet. The worst thing is I know he won't sleep all night again."

He suddenly straightened and slammed the hood down, "Damn it, Bobby, I don't know what else to do, I've tried everything."

The older man took a step toward him and put his hand on his shoulder. Using his other hand he lifted his baseball cap and pulled his free fingers through his hair before putting the cap back on.

"He is going to be alright, kid just needs some time. We do this hunt, keep a close eye on him and maybe take him to some of those fancy museums. Maybe that will peak his interest?"

"Good idea. That would be right up geek boy's alley. I know they have some good ones there, wouldn't mind going to the Museum of Science and Industry myself. They got some pretty cool cars." He grinned, suddenly sure this was the right thing to do after all.

SN SN SN SN SN

After leaving the salvage yard early the next morning and spending all day driving, the trio arrived at their destination at sunset. Taking a little time to grab a bite to eat, they arrived at Mount Olivet Cemetery around eleven. Having chosen one of the smaller side entrances, they left the car outside, knowing that the grave they were looking for was not to far from the gate.

Dean picked the lock within seconds and together the small group made their way inside. Even with the flash lights and Sam holding a map with the location of the grave marked it took them twenty minutes to find the right marker. When the beam of his light fell upon the inscription they've been looking for, Sam paused for a moment.

"Antonio DeLucio, born 1 December 1906, died 7 July 1929, loving husband."

The younger Winchester didn't realize he had read out loud until Bobby said, "Didn't know her husband was buried here too."

"Neither did I!" Dean mused.

"Louisa Marcetti DeLucio, born 16 January 1910, died 14 February 1930." Sam read on then added, "She was just a little girl. The guy must have swept her of her feet, no wonder she died of a broken heart and on Valentine's Day of all days." He looked at his brother with a sad expression.

"It is kinda sad." Dean had a somber look on his face, suddenly becoming aware that in a way this was what his little brother was going through right now. It hurt him to think that life could be this cruel, because although the older Winchester seemed to change girls as frequently as his underwear, he was no stranger to true love. There only was one girl he really fell for and when he did, he fell hard. He even told her the truth about what he was doing just to have her break up with him, "She really must have loved the guy."

"Okay you two mush heads, let's get this done before the soil gets all soggy from your cryin'." Bobby interrupted. Although he neither was a stranger to love, he knew that one of them had to keep a level head. Throwing his bag down, he pushed the shovel into the hardened earth, looking at the other men expectantly, "Well, you gonna stand around here till you grow roots or are ya gonna help?"

The older brother smirked and handed the lantern he was carrying to Sam, before joining the other man in the task, "Why don't you hold this for right now. I don't think we have too much to worry about this ghost. She hasn't been violent, just made a lot of noise crying and annoying people. Even if she shows up, it wouldn't be until we get closer to the coffin."

Sam smiled, knowing his brother was right. Even though he took a few steps back and held on to the sawed off, making sure he was ready at a moments notice.

SN SN SN SN SN

Ten minutes later a tap on the shoulder made the younger Winchester swirl around. Finding himself face to face with a young woman dressed in a light dress with a flower pattern. Her dark hair was cut in a short bob and framed a face in which large brown eyes stood out above all other features. Immediately sure this was their spirit, Sam pointed his weapon at her but dropped it again, when she took a step backwards and the light illuminated the sadness in her eyes.

"Uhm Sam, little more light here!" Dean looked up, when the lantern, which was now blocked by his brother's body no longer brightened the grave site. Unable to see the reason why the younger man had turned away and getting no response, he tried again, "Sammy, we can't dig in the dark."

"Louisa." Sam whispered the words, unsure why the apparition was just starring at him.

"Tonio mi amore." She whispered back, her hand reaching out at him as she stepped closer again, this time lifting herself up on the tips of her toes to gently stroke Sam's cheek, "I knew you would come back."

Without warning she threw her arms around the tall hunter, kissing the startled Winchester on the lips. Neither Dean nor Bobby, who by now realized what was happening, was able to reach the weapon bags, before a bright light surrounded Sam and the spirit. Just as fast as the brightness emerged it disappeared again and with it the youngest hunter.

"Saaammm!" Dean's scream had an edge of disbelief and desperation to it.

Jumping up from his still crouched down position beside the bag; he started to run but was stopped by Bobby grabbing a hold of his arm.

"No Dean, it won't help trying to get to her house. You'll never make it."

"What you want me to do? Let her kill my baby brother?" Angrily the younger man tried to get away, but the seasoned hunter had an iron grip on him.

"Listen to me, the best thing we can do is hurry up and burn that bitch." He gave the distraught man a moment to let the words sink in, then he let go of his arm and picked the shovels up. Handing one to him, he said, "You ready?"

Dean took it, knowing Bobby was right, "Yeah, I guess."

SN SN SN SN SN

Together it took the two men a little over two hours to uncover the casket and with it the bones of Louisa DeLucio. It was a time in which both of them put all their fears and anxiety into their work, thus finishing in record time. They shared the task of pouring salt and gasoline over the remains, before Bobby took a step back and allowed Dean to drop the lit match into the hole.

Looking on for a few minutes to make sure the body would indeed burn, Dean finally couldn't wait any longer. Picking up part of the supplies, he said, "You coming?"

Not waiting for a response, he walked towards the gate. It took but a moment for Bobby to fall in step beside him. Neither cared about the still open grave, Sam was more important right now.

SN SN SN SN SN

Arriving at the Impala the younger hunter opened the trunk and both threw their things inside before getting into the car.

"You know where to go?"

"Not really."

The older man pulled a map out of his pocket, then said, "Turn left when you get to the stop sign, then go straight. I tell you when you need to turn again."

For a while it was quiet, only Bobby's instructions interrupting the silence. Suddenly Dean punched the steering wheel with his fist.

"Damn it Bobby, I should have know better. I never should have gotten Sam into this."

Turning slightly sideways in the seat, the older hunter looked at him, "Listen to yourself, you sound like you tied you brother up and made him come here."

"I didn't tie him up but I convinced him."

"The kid is an adult now; he prooved it by going to Stanford and surviving. No one could know the spirit would show up when she did and take him."

"But I saw the resemblance between Sam and her husband." Dean protested.

"So did I." The hunter said with a broken voice, scrubbing his hand over his face.

For just a second Dean locked eyes with him. Seeing the guilt in them, he fixed his gaze back on the road, "Maybe you're right. Now let's get Sammy."

He floored the gas pedal, concentrating on getting to their newest destination as fast as possible.

SN SN SN SN SN

Although the sudden brightness surrounding him cleared as suddenly as it came on, his vision didn't. Overwhelmed by dizziness the only thing holding the young hunter up was the surprising strength of the woman embracing him. As his vision faded in and out, he felt her swiveling to his side and lead him forward. Effortlessly she made his body move around and gently pushed him down until he sat on something that felt soft and cushiony. Fighting against the darkness trying to engulf him, Sam leant forward.

Instantly soft hands cupped his face and a soft voice whispered in his ear, "Just rest mi amore, I will still be here when you wake up."

He tried to focus on the face in front of him but found his lids getting heavier and heavier and the pull of the dark becoming too strong to resist any longer. As his body became limp, the soft arms that caught him were the last thing he felt.

SN SN SN SN SN

Louisa DeLucio kneeled on the floor beside the bed on which what she thought was her husband was lying. Lovingly she stroked the stray hair out of his face and took in the features of the unconscious man.

"Oh mi amore, you are more handsome than ever. Your hair, you always wore it so short, I'm glad you finally took my advice and let it grow." Again she let her hand glide through his soft locks, "Ti amo, cara mio."

She looked at the movement underneath the fluttering lids, waiting patiently until they cracked and revealed the amazing hazel orbs she had fallen in love with the first time she saw them.

"Tonio, I knew you would come back to me." Seeing the confused look in the young man's eyes, she added, "Everybody tried to tell me you were dead until even I thought I believed it. I thought I was going to die until I decided to follow my heart and not let them tell me what to believe."

She smiled at him with a radiance that made her seem even more beautiful than she already was. Sam shook of the last of the dizziness and slowly sat up, noting that her eyes followed his every move.

Taking a deep breath, he swallowed then said, "Louisa, I'm not Antonio, my name is Sam, Sam Winchester."

She thought for a moment, before she said, "Oh, I understand, you had to change your name in order to survive; I guess I can get used to Sam."

"No, you don't understand, I'm not your husband. Louisa, your husband is dead and so are you. You can be with him again, all you need to do is let go."

The expression on the spirits face changed from one of love to one of deep sadness. Reaching forward, she caressed Sam's face, smiling patiently at him, "I don't know what they've done to you but it had to be horrible for you to forget who you are and to think I am dead. Or maybe you forgot because you thought I was dead. Whatever it is, we will fix it."

The youngest Winchester was starting to get desperate as he realized he wasn't able to make her understand, "Alright, I get it, you don't understand but I don't have time for this. I really need to leave, my brother is gonna be worried sick. So would you please take me back?"

Still having the same sadness in her eyes, she gently responded, "Cara mio, I know you don't remember now but I promise you will."

This wasn't going to work, this much was clear. So Sam did the one thing he could, he got up and went to open the door. Very well knowing she could stop him, he hoped she would only follow him and continue to talk. Stepping out into the hallway, he made his way towards the stairway, stopping short of it, when he heard the desperate tone in her voice.

"Tonio, please don't go."

He turned and found her standing only inches from him.

"Please, I will call you Sam; if it makes you feel better, just don't leave." Again she caressed his cheek, pressing her body against his.

The hunter was surprised by her warmth and the faint scent of expensive perfume surrounding her and for a moment he almost forgot that she was a ghost.

"I know you are my husband, even if you don't, how else would I have sensed your presence. I promise you I will be patient with you, just let me help you." She begged.

There was no falsehood or hidden agenda reflected in her eyes, only the deep love of a woman, who had waited for a long time for the man she loved to return. Sam felt incredibly sad for her, knowing he would not be able to give her what she wanted.

Without warning the spirit let out a loud scream and within seconds was engulfed in fames. Startled Sam took a few steps back, knowing that at this moment his brother and Bobby were burning Louisa's bones. Forgetting he was standing by the steps, his large feet went over the edge and before he could regain balance found himself falling backwards. Landing awkwardly on his left arm and continuing to roll down the steep steps, he unsuccessfully tried to grab on to something to hold his decent. Just when he thought the tumble could end only in him breaking his neck, the left side of his face and body connected with the marble floor in the bottom. Feeling a sharp pain going through his already injured limb and his head was the last thing before everything went dark.

SN SN SN SN SN

Dean felt some relief flooding him when he finally pulled up in front of an old turn of the century two story building. This was the address Bobby had led him to and he was hopeful to find his brother here. Not waiting for the older man, he stormed towards the house. Stopping on the front porch, he kneeled and started to work the lock. By the time the other man caught up with him, the door opened with a slight creak.

"Damn it boy, did you lose your brain? Can't just go storming in there, someone lives there." Bobby scolded, glad it was the middle of the night on a week day and the street was void of any signs of activity.

"I don't care, Sammy is in there."

"We think he is in there, we don't know for sure." His friend corrected him.

"I don't give a shit what you think, I know he is in there and I'm going in. You comin'?"

Muttering something Dean couldn't understand Bobby followed him in. Turning on their flashlights, they found themselves in an entry hall. As they started to look around both noticed the furniture was covered with sheets.

"Looks like whoever is living here now is gone for a long trip." Dean smirked, before he reached for the switch and turned the light on.

The brightness revealed the grandness of the large hall. The floors where lined with marble tile and a large chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling that was open all the way up to the second floor. The stairways, also made from marble with a matching banister was the center of the whole grandeur but the only thing the two men took in at this moment was the still figure lying on the bottom of the stairs.

After standing motionless for what seemed forever, Dean finally was able to pull himself out of his shock.

"Sammy." His voice almost screeched as he was unable to hold back the fear that overwhelmed him. Fear that this time he was too late.

Hurrying to his brother's side, he knelt down. Too afraid of what he might find, he moved his hand over the motionless body without actually touching him. Bobby let himself down beside him. Seeing the fear in the younger man's face, he leant forward and pushed his fingers to the side of Sam's neck. For a few endless seconds Dean could only stare at him then the older man let out a breath.

"He's got a pulse, a little fast but pretty steady."

Still unable to speak, the other hunter finally let his hands sink down onto his brother's body, beginning to check the younger man for any injuries. Satisfied with his assessment of the side that was facing up, he looked up at Bobby.

"We have to turn him. There is some blood under his head but I don't want to lift his head like this."

Gently the two men moved the unconscious young man on his back while supporting his neck and back as well as possible. The movement elicited a moan from Sam but didn't make him regain consciousness.

"Shit." Dean couldn't hold back the curse, when he took in the large laceration on the side of his brother's face. Starting on his forehead, it went down beside his eye, missing it by only millimeters and ended at his jaw line. Although the bleeding had slowed down, it was still steadily seeping the red fluid. Between this and the amount of it on the floor the two men knew that Sam had lost enough to require medical attention. The other indication for it was the strange position of his left arm. Carefully moving his hand over it, Dean could feel several fractures.

His eyes moved up to the seasoned hunter beside him, "Bobby, we have to get him out of here and to a hospital."

The other man only nodded, while watching as he took off his coat and outer shirt and started to tear strips from his t-shirt, bunching them up and pressing them onto the wound and Sam's face.

"Here, hold those." He said, waiting for Bobby to press his hand on the make shift bandages before he moved on to carefully put the younger Winchester's arm across his body and securing it there with is outer shirt.

Throughout his ministration's Sam had moaned several times, trying to move away but still never really woke up. Now, as his brother lifted him up with the help of their friend, his eyes fluttered and finally opened.

His glassed over hazel orbs moved around for a moment, finally coming to rest on his brother, "D'n." He slurred relief obvious even in the one word only understandable to Dean.

Before the other Winchester was able to respond his lids closed again and his body went slack.

"Okay, let's go, you drive!" Dean commanded, unsure if he should be encouraged or scared by the short moment of consciousness.

SN SN SN SN SN

Several hours later, neither Dean nor Bobby really kept track of how many, both of them were still sitting in the surgical waiting room at Cook County Memorial Hospital. After rushing Sam to the Emergency Department, the staff there took over and moved the young man behind closed doors, cutting the older men off from any contact with him.

It took almost an hour, during which Dean filled out forms for one Sam Callahan and handed in a fake insurance card for copying, before a tall man in green scrubs came approached them. After introducing himself as Dr. Green, he explained that Sam had multiple fractures of the upper and lower left arm and was being prepped for surgery. At the same time they were going to suture the large laceration on his face and do a laparoscopic exploration of his abdomen because he showed some signs of internal bleeding. He then told the girl behind the desk to give them directions to the surgical waiting area and ran off to help with another emergency being wheeled in before either man could even remember to breathe.

Now they were sitting on the worn out chairs thinking about all the questions they didn't get to ask. In the beginning Bobby had tried to make conversation, but gave up very soon when all he got from Dean were one worded answers that at times didn't even pertain to what he asked. Since then they were quietly side by side, every so often one of them getting up and refilling their cups from the coffeemaker in the corner.

After downing the forth cup of the bitter brew, Dean crumbled the Styrofoam cup and threw it into the corner, giving air to some of his frustration .

"Damn Bobby, how much longer is this going to take? What if Sammy isn't going to make it?"

"Now you listen to me boy, don't you dare think that way!" The older man scolded, trying to hide his own fears, "Your brother is going to be just fine."

Before the other hunter could answer, the door opened to a tall black man.

"I assume you are the family of Sam Callahan." Not waiting for an answer, he continued, "I'm Dr. Benton, Sam's surgeon. Before I get into details, let me tell you, he made it through surgery and is being taken to recovery as we speak."

Taking in the relieved looks that started to show on the faces of what he assumed were his patient's brother and father, he once again was glad for the profession he had chosen for himself. There was nothing more satisfying than being able to save a life and see the gratefulness on the faces of the patient's family.

"I had one of the orthopedic surgeons take care of Sam's arm and it sounds like it will be a long recovery but he should regain full use of it. I did the exploration of his abdomen and found damage to some of the larger blood vessels. The good thing is it was only seeping or he would have bled out before you ever got him here, but it was still bad enough that we had to flush his abdominal cavity to clean out the blood. I was able to patch the vessels and we gave him a couple of units of blood. Especially because he lost quite a bit from the head wound."

He stopped for a moment to give the two men time to take in the information and ask their own questions.

"What about the head wound?" Dean gave the man an anxious look.

Interpreting the question correctly, he answered, "Your brother suffered a severe concussion but the CT scan they did before the surgery showed no bleed."

Both men let out a breath they were holding and exchanged some glances.

"I want to warn you though, there still is a chance he might have a bleed that didn't show on the scan. But I promise you we will keep a close eye on him and do another scan tomorrow. And just in case you want to know." He smiled, "I called in one of our plastic surgeons for the head wound. I know his work and if there are no complications, Sam shouldn't even have a scar after everything is healed."

Although this had not even crossed his mind, Dean found himself relieved by the news. It was bad enough that they had to put up with all the reminders of past hunts on their bodies, a large facial scar like this would have really been a downer for anyone but especially his kid brother. Not that the young man was vain but he was very self conscious and his confidence would certainly have suffered from a scar this large.

"So he is going to be alright?" Bobby asked.

"Unless there are complications, your son should be fine." The surgeon answered.

The older man smiled, somehow it felt good someone thought he was the boys' father, but he could just see the look John Winchester would give him, where he here right now.

"Sam's my nephew. My name is Singer, their momma was my sister." He lied, secretly wishing it was true.

"Sorry." Dr. Benton apologized, "Now, if you want to get some breakfast, the food in the cafeteria is pretty decent and the coffee is a lot better than the one up here. I will have you paged when Sam is being moved out of recovery and into intensive care."

The older Winchester gave him a slightly confused look, "Intensive care? I thought you said Sam was gonna be fine."

"Yeah, but I want to be careful, at least until he wakes up. We can monitor him much closer in ICU and watch for any signs he might be slipping into a coma. After he comes around and responds appropriately I will allow him to move to the surgical step down unit." The doctor explained.

Although Dean was slightly hesitant to leave, the gurgling from Bobby's stomach reminded him that he wasn't alone and he knew the older man wouldn't leave without him. So after making the surgeon promise to page them even before his brother was being moved, if anything should go wrong, he led the way down to the first floor, where the hospital cafeteria was located.

SN SN SN SN SN

The two men found out that Dr. Benton had been right when he told them the food was decent. Actually it was delicious for their standards. The eggs were hot, the bacon crispy and the bread was freshly toasted so that the butter melted on it. And as promised, the coffee was better also, turning out to be hot, strong and flavorful.

Yet this still didn't keep either of them sitting there any longer than they had to. Within twenty minutes they were finished and back, this time on the third floor on which the surgical ICU was located. The unit assistant, whose name tag identified her as Kerry gave them an understanding smile before leading them to the family waiting area, promising she would get them as soon as Sam was brought here from recovery.

So again they waited, this time for another hour before Kerry stuck her head into the room.

"Hey, you can come with me now." The young woman waved at them, hardly waiting for the two men to follow.

She led them along the hallway, stopping at the room across from the nurse's station. Like so many other ICU rooms the wall to the hall consisted of metal framed glass with sliding doors and curtains on the inside to allow for privacy if needed.

Although those curtains were drawn, Dean wasn't willing to wait another second to see his brother and opened the door without knocking. The nurse, a salt and pepper haired woman in her fifties who was leaning over Sam and right now effectively blocking the older man's view, looked back at him and gave him an understanding smile.

"Hi, I'm Martha; I'm your brother's nurse until this evening. Just give me a second; I just need to check the dressing on his abdomen." She said, turning back towards her patient. After a moment she tucked the blanket in around him and stepped back, "You can see him now. Dr. Benton told me you and your uncle had unrestricted visiting time with Sam."

Seeing the shocked look on the handsome young man's face, she smiled again, "Dr. B can read people pretty well. He figured you would stay here anyway, no matter if you had permission or not."

"Thanks." Dean smiled back then stepped closer to the bed.

The young man in the bed had very little resemblance with the little brother Dean was used to. Sam's skin was almost as white as the pillow his head was lying on, which was only enforced by the dark chocolate colored hair framing his face. Half of his features, including his left eye were covered by gauze and tape, a sight that scared the older man for a moment.

"Why is his eye covered?"

"Don't worry; it's only because of the location of the laceration. Some of the sutures are very close to the eye and if he opens and moves it a lot it they could tear. The thread the surgeon used is very fine and fragile in order to prevent scaring." The nurse answered his question.

Dean gently stroked his hand over Sam's uninjured cheek before moving a few stray strands of hair out of his face. Taking in the nasal cannula bringing oxygen to help his brother breath easier and the IV lines letting lifesaving blood and fluids drip into his veins, he let out a sigh.

A hand was put on his shoulder and for the first time he remembered his old friend being there also. The other hunter had quietly stood behind him, ready to be there when he was needed.

"Sam is going to be alright Dean." He said once again, trying to sound encouraging.

"I hope so Bobby." Dean sighed again.

Martha interrupted him at that time, "Why don't pull the chair up and sit down. I'm done here now but I will check in every half hour. If you need anything just press the call button." She turned to leave, then she stopped, "Oh, and there is a lounge with a couple hide-away beds, a TV and some comfortable chairs, if you need to take a break. There is also a fridge and microwave, if you want to bring some food."

"Thanks, we appreciate that." Bobby said, walking towards the window were the chairs were located.

Bringing two of them over, he sat them down beside the bed and pushed the older Winchester down.

SN SN SN SN SN

Dean was holding his brother's hand. He was doing so for the last ten hours, hanging on to it like a man on the top of a cliff would hold on to another, who was dangling over the side. It really was a fair comparison, because somehow the oldest Winchester felt, if he just would hold on tight he could make Sam wake up. Too bad up to now it didn't work. The youngest Winchester was still unconscious, didn't even twitch a muscle yet.

Bobby, who went to get lunch and later coffee and sodas, was now coming back with dinner, stopped in the door way to observe the scene. Not that it was any different from what he saw before he left; no actually he stopped because nothing changed since then. Dean was still sitting there holding Sam's hand in between both of his.

Finally he stepped closer and put the tray down on the table, "Dean, you need to eat."

Without moving his gaze off his brother, the other hunter mumbled, "Later."

The comment made something snap in the seasoned hunter, "Damn it kid, you've been telling me this for hours." He pointed at the untouched burger and fries, which were joined by two Styrofoam cups of coffee and an unopened soda can, "You are not helping Sammy by not eating or drinking."

"I know, but somehow I'm afraid, if I let go he will go away." This time the young man looked at his friend and Bobby could see tears shining in the green orbs.

Stepping closer, he put his hand on the other hunter's shoulder, "Dean you heard the doc, he said Sam was going to be fine."

"He said if there are no complications. You know with Sam's luck that's almost an invitation." For the first time his right hand let go and wearily he scrubbed it over his face, "I can't lose him, Bobby. Do you have any idea how difficult it was when he went off to Stanford? At least I knew he was alive though. Then dad disappeared and when Jess got killed by the same thing that murdered mom, Sammy was hanging on by a thread. For a while I thought I would lose him."

"Dean, you know that boy would never kill himself." The older man scolded.

"That's not what I mean. I was afraid he would turn into dad, run off by himself with nothing else on his mind but revenge. Instead he held on and we seemed closer again, more like we were before. That was until the nightmares and the headaches and the not sleeping got too much. He became more distant and it made me realize he still hadn't gotten over Jess. I was hoping taking a break from hunting would help and now he is lying here and I'm scared. I'm scared Bobby that he doesn't want to come back." The tears he'd been holding back were now freely flowing down his face.

Trying desperately to keep his own emotions in check, Bobby put his arms around the younger man and suddenly found his embrace returned, as sobs tore through Dean's body. Unsure what to do next, mainly because showing emotions this openly was totally uncharacteristic for any of the Winchesters, he stood there and gently patted the other's back.

A noise, too quiet to really identify tore the two men apart. Instinctively looking toward the bed, they found themselves watched by a single glassed over hazel orb.

"D'n…y..hh'rt?"

For a moment there was an astounded silence in the room, before Dean finally found his voice.

"What? No, I'm fine, you're the one who got hurt Sammy. Why would you ask that?"

Blinking a few times, the younger man tried to focus, then he finally whispered, "You cried."

"No, I, well, I just got something in my eyes and it really hurt."

It was clear that even in his still fairly dazed state the younger Winchester wasn't buying the lame excuse. Worry making him agitated as he attempted to make sense of what was going on, he started to hyperventilate.

Dean leant forward and gently laid his hands on his brother's shoulders, "It's alright Sammy…"

"No, you cried." The younger man blew out, "You...don't...cry."

"Sammy!" the older brother raised his voice, trying to get through to him, "I was scared I would lose you." He finally confessed.

The silence in the room lasted for several seconds before Sam broke it, "Not goin' anywhere." He blinked, suddenly realizing he couldn't see out of his left eye, yet to tired and to relieved that Dean was alright to worry about it. Fighting the exhaustion off for just another moment, he mumbled, "Love you too big bro." before he gave in and let his lids close.

The last thing he heard before comfortable darkness engulfed him were Dean's words, "It's alright little bro, you sleep, I'll be here when you wake up."

SN SN SN SN SN

Over the next three days the youngest Winchester steadily improved. After the second CT scan came back clear, he had been moved to the step down unit as promised. In usual Winchester fashion he had started to deny any pain and discomfort and probably would have fooled everyone but Dean, if it hadn't been for the severe concussion he was suffering. It continued to cause him dizziness, headaches and even occasional black outs, which were difficult to cover up, if you passed out in front of your doctor.

Even though on the third day Dr. Benton told the brothers Sam could go home in the afternoon. The news made the youngest smile like a little kid on Christmas, while Dean couldn't help the worry nagging on him. Only after the physician assured him that the symptoms his little brother experienced were normal for the traumatic injury he experienced and that they would slowly improve over the next few weeks did he allow himself to relax a little. He still recommended against any travel beyond an hour at the most.

Under protest from Sam, who insisted the doc was just being overly careful; Dean and Bobby decided to stay at an older but fairly nice motel on the outskirts of Chicago. So now the two younger men were waiting for the nurse to bring Sam's discharge papers, while Bobby brought the Impala to the entrance.

The wait turned out longer than expected due to an emergency on the unit. This left the two Winchesters ready with nowhere to go. When Bobby joined them a few minutes later, he couldn't help but grin, as Dean was lying on the bed, gently snoring, while Sam sat in the vinyl recliner, watching his brother sleep.

"Sleepless nights finally catching up with him?" The older man smirked, knowing the older Winchester didn't leave the hospital since his brother was admitted.

"Yeah, don't wake him; it won't be more than a few minutes anyway." Sam responded.

"Stubborn fool that's what he is." Seeing the other man ready to protest, he added, "And you're not any different. Two of you will be the death of me yet, don't know how your daddy put up with you?"

Sam decided to ignore the question, instead his face suddenly turned sad; as his mind went back to the reason they were here.

"It's kinda sad." He slowly said.

"What, your dad putting up with you?"

"No, Louisa DeLucio." Sam clarified, "All this time she waited for the love of her life to return and the only thing she found was me. At least now Antonio and she are reunited again."

"How can you feel sorry for her? She almost killed you." Dean, who woke up a few minutes ago, couldn't help but give his anger air.

His gaze moved over the left side of his brother's face, which now that the bandages were removed showed the swelling, which still rendered the younger man unable to open his eyes and a whole mess of dark purple bruising. He also remembered the same discolorations along his ribcage and abdomen. It would be weeks before his brother would be able to move without pain and that wasn't even talking about the fractures in his arm.

"But she didn't Dean." The younger man blinked back the tears threatening to fall, "She though I was her husband. She called me 'cara mio'. I tried walk away and she tried to stop me by coming after me and talking, that's when she went up in flames and I stepped backwards and fell. It wasn't her fault, Dean." He attempted to convince his brother.

The older man looked at him for a moment. He knew his baby brother well enough to see the emotions going through him at this moment. 'Dammit, why can't the kid be more like me and dad?' Dean ask himself but already had the answer ready, 'Cause then he wouldn't be so damn special.'

"Sorry kiddo, I didn't know. No matter what, she is gone and I'm happy you're not."

Bobby nodded in agreement but stayed quiet, feeling he needed to let the brothers talk.

"Can't say I'm sorry I survived." Sam said, in an attempt to sound cocky, "Still, I think she deserved better. Thing is, I know there are very few times when life is ever fair."

A relieved smile crossed the two older men's faces, after all they tried to help; it seemed that it took meeting a woman so in love that she couldn't move on after death, to bring Sammy back to life.

FIN

_So I hope you let me know what you think and I see you again in the sequel "Still There Waiting For you". Hugs, Vonnie_


	21. Because Dragons Don't Exist

Title: Because Dragon's Don't Exist

Author: Dianne

**A/N: From Dianne and darksupernatural... This is one of the remaining One shots that hadn't made the group posting yet. Dianne did a great job with a fanciful plot, and well...I've dropped the ball with this project and although it's here now, there may be some small mistakes I didn't catch in the too small time I allowed myself to read it. So, sorry Dianne and everyone else who spots them. Anyway, enjoy the story and let us know what you think about it. If you're new to the Shots, go back and read the rest and you'll get some wonderful stories from some wonderful people all in one place.**

A dragon lives forever

But not so little boys

Painted wings and giant rings

Make way for other toys.

XXXX

Trees smoldered at their huge, knotty bases, leaves curling and crackling, sending sparks of orange and red spiraling through the plumes of smoke. Cinders caught on the wind using the dry force to leap from pine to oak.

The Winchesters watched through binoculars from the Impala, windows rolled up against the smoke that was making its way down the hill toward the logging road. A herd of deer ran in front of the car, birds flew higher than the smoke in the same direction and the wind slammed into the car spraying ash so thick that the windshield wipers could barely keep up with clearing it away.

Armed with cross bows with arrows dipped in holy water and handguns and wearing fire gear swiped from the 1970's section of a local museum, the Winchesters waited for any sign that would tell them if their prey was near.

"This gear's outdated, Dad," Sam complained.

"Well, I couldn't very well steal modern equipment from a fire station, Sam. It would put lives at risk, and besides, every piece of equipment will be in use today," John grumbled.

Sam was about to ask what his and Dean's life meant, but he tried to put things into perspective. As much as John was a hard ass, he was right. And Sam and Dean wouldn't be going as close to the fire as firefighters would have to. He'd just have to suck up the heavy, ill-fitting turnout gear. Sam chanced one more glance at the dragon on the screen of his laptop

Twenty-year-old Dean could see the fear etched on Sam's face. Hell, if he thought he was going to be fighting a dragon, he'd be scared too. Dean tried to assure Sam that they weren't going to be fighting dragons because dragons didn't exist. Sure, the firefighters and locals whose homes had been lost to previous fires in nearby townships all swore they saw _something_ winging through the smoke, fanning the flames and blowing further destruction down upon their town, but no one had been able to give a description, or at least seemed reluctant to describe exactly what they had seen.

"Sammy, look, I'm gonna say this one more time. Dragons don't exist, kiddo. Dad knows what he's doing. We're gonna kill this thing and get out of here."

John's best speculation based on one day's worth of research was that they were dealing with a Demon called a Black Sabbath, which Dean proclaimed was _cool! _But Sam disagreed, noting from his own research that Black Sabbaths usually started fires in urban centers and this one was burning forests in South Dakota about every forty years. Also, Black Sabbaths usually started fires on Sundays, hence the name Sabbath. Despite having pointed out any differences he found, Sam was told in no uncertain terms to leave the details to the more experienced and keep his head in the game.

"Boys, if this thing can really fly like the locals have said, I need Sam to be ready with the Latin for the exorcism and Dean you need to man the arrows. When the thing tries to exit whatever freaky body it has, we'll catch it in this box." John held up a metal box with binding rituals etched into the shiny surface that looked impossibly small to imprison anything, but then again, how big could a beast's soul be?

"And if we're wrong about what it is?" Sam asked, eyes going wide the minute the words left his mouth, hands flying to his face as if he could squash them back in.

John turned around to glare at Sam as Dean started talking fast and loud about the suddenly very interesting symbols etched on the box still held in John's hands.

Sam swallowed, grateful for Dean's quick distraction but he shrunk a bit too, when Dean cast a sideways glance at him, brows furrowed the minute John looked away.

Just as Sam wished to be swallowed up, the car seemed to buckle a little as if being pushed down like a toy by a toddler. The moment passed as the shocks sprung back and the car rocked a bit before stilling. Dean cringed, waiting for the tires to blow or something that would indicate that the hunt was going to start with typical Winchester luck. The tires held. He breathed. After all, the Impala was his now.

That was their cue. John ordered them to put on the oxygen masks. Dean helped Sam step from the car, the tank on his back almost bigger than the sixteen year old. Sam had undergone a bit of a growth spurt but he was nowhere near big enough for this man-sized gear. The mask slipped on his face but he pushed it back up with determination, his feet slipping backwards and forwards in the huge boots. Smoke creeping under the mask tickled his nose but he shouldered his cross bow in front of him to offset the huge oxygen canister on his back.

John led the way toward the fire that blazed on the hill not looking back to see if he was followed closely by his sons. It was assumed. It was an order. Dean however did look back. Sam trudged along up the hill admirably well, considering the extra weight and bulk of the fireproof gear. Sam pushed his facemask up again and Dean called a halt, looking pissed.

"Sam! Your mask doesn't fit, why didn't you say something?" Dean cursed.

The truth was, the only checks they'd done on the equipment was to ensure they got the tanks filled at the dive-shop in a different town so as to avoid anyone noticing the tanks were stolen. The masks weren't exactly one-size fits all. Dean reached around Sam's head and hissed in frustration when he found the adjustments were already set on their smallest. He looked up the hill to tell his father that they couldn't take Sam any further but John was already far ahead of them slightly obscured in the smoke that was kicking up at more frequent intervals. Already a line of soot framed Sam's nose and eyes under the mask.

Dean took the crossbow from Sam and gave him a handgun, placing Sam's other hand over his mask.

"No crossbow for you. Hold this mask in place, Sammy, you hear me?"

Sam nodded, already feeling like dead weight in this hunt. He felt he couldn't do one thing right these days. Hell, couldn't even grow properly. Would probably be a shrimp for life if by some miracle he straightened out and learned to be the good soldier his dad wanted like Dean had done.

"Sorry, Dean," Sam mumbled from behind the thick clear facemask.

"No worries, kiddo, a little beer and cheeseburgers and you'll be as big as me someday," Dean replied, slapping him on the back and nearly knocking him over.

The smoke was getting thicker. Dean put Sam ahead of him, not wanting to lose the kid should he tumble back down the hill that was growing steeper by the minute. Sam trudged on like a trooper, breathing a bit easier now that he had a free hand to hold his mask in place. They caught up to John, perched behind a huge boulder sticking out from the hillside like a fist slamming out from the bowels of the earth. Small daisies perched in the dark black soil, all of them pointed away from the increased heat brought by the wind as if they could uproot and run away.

John motioned for the boys to put down their burdens. He wasn't without sympathy; it was just that marines usually didn't need help carrying things and their gear fit, unless they were missing a limb or something. John opened a large bottle of water and held it out to the boys. Dean took the offering and handed it to Sam first. Sam took a deep breath, let the mask slide and took a long drink, making sure there was plenty left for Dean and his father. Sweat rolled down his back and his face hurt from having to push so hard to keep the mask on. Dean winced at the red marks in Sam's heated faced, etched by black soot that strove to get under his mask should he slip up and not hang on to it.

"Look, Dad, I think maybe Sam should go back to the car," Dean said.

John looked over at his youngest, noticing only now that Sam held tightly to his mask. Sam didn't have to hear the sigh that he knew escaped John's lips. John performed the same too-little-too-late inspection of Sam's mask as Dean had, swearing loudly, not particularly at Sam but to the universe in general.

"He has one hand. He can use the gun," John decided. He opened Sam's gun, removing the bullets from the clip and dousing them in holy water.

Sam was glad he knew the Latin Exorcism by heart because there was no way he could hold his gun, the mask and a piece of paper to read from. He was unsure if it would even work against a creature that wasn't riding a human or animal but something surely invented by evil. He'd argued to no avail that the evil might be intertwined body and soul. That or it wasn't a Black Sabbath at all, which was the more likely of the two scenarios in his head. _But dragons didn't exist._

When John picked his gear up he didn't need to tell the boys that break time was over. They obediently picked up their gear, Dean shouldering two cross bows and Sam his gun, his other hand firmly on the mask but still looking a little more bug-eyed than Dean liked.

Sam once again in the middle struggled to stay upright, to look tough. He'd never worn a mask like this and didn't know if the strenuous effort to pull air from the canister was normal or not. Dean and John looked fine, no strain indicated from either of them so Sam vowed to suck it up and try to concentrate on not getting winded from the exertion of carrying the extra weight of the gear. Sweat poured down his spine, tickling the small of his back and he'd give anything to scratch but he had no free hand and nothing short of a sword would penetrate the heavy coat anyway. _Suck it up Winchester, _he ordered himself, trying to sound like his dad in his head.

The whistling sound echoing around the damned mask from Sam's wheezing was annoying. He was glad his dad and Dean couldn't hear it; it would be just another indicator of weakness. The air this time of year under the heavy canopy of trees would have been thick and humid anyway, but coupled with the smoke that hung in an ever-thickening fog, it was almost unbearable. When Sam first put the mask on, the hiss of oxygen felt light and cool, but now it trickled, barely satisfying his need. He stopped for a minute, holding his hand up in an _I'm okay_ gesture usually used by divers.

Dean looked back as Sam stumbled. He tried his best not to leap forward and inspect his younger brother. Sam made it clear that if John insisted that he come on these hunts, that he be treated like anyone else. Still, he moved closer to Sam, almost within reach to trip on his heels if he stopped suddenly. Dean tried in vain to glimpse Sam's face.

Sam's mask fogged up. He tried to sneak and let it up for a minute, hoping to catch the odd clean gust of air that managed to blow up from below from time to time but instead caught a lungful of soot and dirt. His mask didn't clear as he hoped. He clamped the mask back over his jaw and nose and tried to draw in a much-needed breath but the only satisfaction was a half pull of oxygen that didn't fill his lungs when he ached for more. His hair was plastered to his head under the heavy hat. He wanted to strip out of this damned gear and take his chances.

Sam tried to gauge his internal compass. He could no longer see his father through the fogged up glass of his mask. A heavy hand on his shoulder jerked him back and though he tried to ignore it, when it pulled back a second time, he was nearly knocked off balance and had to plant his feet firmly in the loosening dirt so as to not fall back down the hill and take Dean with him in the process.

This time Dean spun Sam around and swore loudly when he looked Sam in the face, or tried to anyway.

"Crap! Sam why didn't you say something? Dad!"

John didn't hear Dean, he was cresting the hill already and having found another huge boulder, he dropped his pack and began setting up to wait for the beast.

There was no buddy breathing equipment on this gear and Dean took his mask off and pressed it firmly to Sam's face, noting the slightly blue tinge to his lips. Dean coughed, pressing Sam's mask to his own face and grimacing in disgust at the impeded airflow. He followed the rubbery tubing until he saw the minute cracks at a bend in the surface from which air hissed almost imperceptibly.

Sam looked livid at being babied but his lips grew pinker by the second and his breathing evened out so he wasn't fighting for every breath.

Dean would have given anything for some duct tape, already fighting to hold his breathing steady despite the starvation of his lungs. He had no idea how Sam had stayed on his feet this long, damned kid and his pride. All Dean could find was a thick elastic band holding the bows together. He stripped it off and wound it around the creased rubber air hose slowing the escape of air considerably, but not perfectly. Dean would have traded air masks but they were attached intricately to the other gear and it would have been impossible under these conditions. He cleaned Sam's mask as best he could and took his own mask back, shoving Sam's tightly over his face and placing Sam's hand over it.

"That's it, I'm telling Dad we have to go back, you stay here," Dean ordered.

"But Dean …"

"Sammy," Dean said in that voice Sam hated because it came with a side order of that stance that belonged to their dad.

Sam wanted to get up, to make it to the crest of the hill, to prove to his dad that Dean was just being an over protective hen. Sam was convinced that if Dean just left him the hell alone, he could have trudged up the hill, but now that he sat down his body didn't want to get back up. He coughed pathetically, trying to quell the thrill of horror when black spittle droplets splattered across his mask. Humiliation rose up and added to the already intense heat inside the suit.

With the cleaner mask, the air was still clear enough to see Dean crest the hilltop safely. Sam could almost feel his dad's eyes upon him, could see the head shake, could see the hand go the hips and then to his head, forgetting that he couldn't run his hands through his hair in frustration like Sam had made him do more times than he could count.

XXXX

"Dean, tell Sam to go back to the car, then come back here and help me set up," John ordered.

Dean was a good soldier. Always did as he was told. His mouth opened and closed a few times, pondering his argument.

"Sam's not doing well," Dean stated. Before John's usual tirade about sucking it up or walking it off could begin, Dean steeled himself and went on. "His mask doesn't fit and there was a hole in it. Sam hasn't been getting enough air this whole climb. I think he's inhaled too much smoke. I think I should walk him back down the hill at least and then come back to finish this thing … Sir."

John squinted down to his youngest. Sam was climbing up the hill toward them. _That's my boy, _he thought with pride.

Dean stocked to the edge, preparing to scale back down and give Sam crap. John stopped him and within minutes, Sam crested the hill. John reached down a hand and pulled Sam the final few steps, slapping him hard on the back in a congratulatory manner, almost sending Sam sprawling. Sam sat down with as much control over his shaking limbs as he could manage.

Dean scanned Sam's face. Though his lips were no longer blue tinged, his cheeks were vibrant red and sweat and soot pooled around his nostrils in the mask. John lifted Sam's hand that held tightly to the mask and pulled it gently away with a loud sucking nose that pulled Sam's skin in a way that would have been funny in any other situation. John quickly wiped the glass again before setting Sam's hand firmly back in place with the mask. Dean got the water bottle and handed it to Sam, who took advantage of an updraft from the bottom of the hill of cleaner air to take a long drink. It was a mistake. He coughed and spluttered, having ignored Dean's warning to take small sips.

Sam's hand caught the blackened spittle and there was no hiding it from his father, who finally admitted Sam couldn't continue. Dean grunted in frustration, hauling Sam to his feet, prepared to take his brother down the hill when all three of them were suddenly sent to their knees by a down gust of wind from the other side of the hill. Huge leathery wings obscured what had to be an enormous body, flapping above them and screeching angrily.

The huge beast blackened the sky as it flew over them and turned, hovering, wings rippling like sails made of smoke on a tall ship holding steady in the waves of hot air currents. There was no time to put arrow to quiver.

John dropped to one knee, his gun, an extension of his hand, already cocked and ready to fire at a moment's notice. He shouted out a warning, not waiting to see if it was obeyed or not, trusting his sons to take his word and find cover. He waited, tense, steadying himself to take the kill shot, knowing they only had one chance at this, that if he missed, they would have to take their chances and run, and he was uncertain if Sam was capable of doing so. He breathed slowly through his mouth in an effort to steady himself all the more, the crashing of bushes ahead alerting him to the beast's whereabouts.

A crash and shout from behind him had his focus lost in an instant, his mind casting back to the words of his youngest earlier, words that spoke of caution, of flaws in their plan, of the chance there could be more than one beast. He didn't have time to berate himself though as he was barreled into with force, his body flying gracelessly through the air before coming to land, winded and confused, his head catching a glancing blow from an unforgiving tree trunk. He shook his head, willing the blurriness to abate, his efforts increasing as a scream rang out across the night sky, before everything around him fell silent. Pushing himself up onto shaky arms he shouted. "Dean! Sammy!" Half of him relieved, half of him distraught, when one of his boys answered.

Sam dangled in mid-air, a silent scream frozen on his shocked face. Dean ran to the edge of the cliff yelling his brother's name, skidding to a stop at the particularly steep crest. Their eyes locked. And there was nothing Dean could do. If he shot the beast down, Sammy would plummet from its huge talons. Sam's face was a mask of pain as he struggled, held up by his impaled shoulder.

With one great flap of wings, Dean was thrown to the ground and Sam was lost to view as the beast flew off. A great screech rent the air and Dean clasped his hands to his ears until it died down.

"NO!" Dean screamed. He got to his feet and was about to find his way down the hill, running in the direction Sam had been taken. He was tackled from behind and brought to the ground once again.

John grabbed Dean's facemask, the air a little cleaner a few inches from the ground.

"Let me go!" Dean struggled against his father.

"You can't catch it, Dean. We'll have to figure out where it took Sam. If you go off half-cocked it'll get you too. I can't … I can't lose both of you."

The forest grew quiet for a few minutes. Dean pulled his coat from his father's tight grip and stood up, trying to ignore his father's pleas for him to calm down and regroup. He stared in the direction Sam had been taken.

"We wouldn't have lost Sam if you'd listen to him once in awhile!" Dean shouted as his father stood shakily wincing with every degree he straightened. "He could be anywhere. How do you go after something that flies? Sam could be …"

"We'll get your brother back," John told Dean, plucking his satellite phone from the heavy coat and dialing Bobby's number.

"Bobby, listen, Sam's been taken …" John proceeded to tell Bobby exactly what happened. Bobby promised to call his friend, a Vietnam vet who ran a helicopter tour business and had his fair share of hunting animals and the supernatural under his belt. If anyone would fly out in the dense smoke, it was Stu Smith. Bobby promised to be in the air in a half hour.

A million thoughts flooded Dean's panicked brain. What if Sam was dropped, eaten or set down to burn to death when the beast tired of its new toy? The sky loomed huge before him and he felt small.

"I'm going after him too," Dean announced, stalking off before John could stop him. John tried to keep up with his eldest but the impact into the tree had his vision graying and the pain in his back buckled his legs. Dean was as angry with his father as he'd ever been, his heart ripped out, but he couldn't leave him there like this. He turned around and walked back to his father, handing him the flare gun and the bottle of water.

The satellite phone was pushed into Dean's gloved hands and John nodded.

"Dean, get yourself out before you're surrounded by fire, please son."

Dean clapped his father on the shoulder, almost certain that he would never see him again. He had no intention of coming back without his brother.

Dean wiped soot off of his compass and set out in the direction the beast had flown. If it followed its vague patterns of previous fires, it would stay within a ten-mile radius. Dean fought hard to remember the details Sam had told him, the ones he'd laughed at.

Dean knew of Sam's theory. He had found a pattern in the dates of the fires and the times of year by cross referencing migratory bird nesting grounds and scientific hypothesis of prehistoric pterodactyl. Sightings of the beast were always within ten miles of the heart of the fire. Dean wracked his brain. Sam had said something about the fires renewing certain undergrowth and allowing larger trees to survive and actually helping replenish things in certain circumstances.

XXXX

The air was fresh above the tree canopy. Sam was grateful for the first full breaths he'd pulled into his lungs in over a half hour but the pain in his shoulder notched up tenfold with his increased awareness.

Sam groped for his facemask, gasping for breath through copper tasting lips. The last thing he remembered was being flung through the air and over the crest of the hill. Something hit him between the shoulder blades, driving the oxygen canister into his back brutally as he tried to roll onto his side. He plucked a large, jagged splinter of broken facemask from his cheek, the disconnected air hose still hissing feebly from somewhere beneath him. He lifted his head, grimacing at the jagged hole in the cloth above his shoulder and the pain from where he'd been grabbed by the beast.

The air was cleaner down here, a ceiling of dense black smoke above him bruising the sky with swirling plumes that allowed the odd stab of mid afternoon sun through, causing Sam's concussed vision to focus oddly on individual granules of soot that settled on his nose and face. A voice called from above, compelling him to answer, but his _here, Sir _died somewhere deep in his chest from even attempting to shout. He couldn't see the top of the hill from where he lay in a small crevice. _Down here, Dad. I'm down here. Sorry._

Panic rose in Sam as he lay like a turtle on its back, ridiculously heavy gear dragging him back down every time he fought through the pain to try to sit up. He finally managed to get his arms out of the heavy straps that held the canister on his back, realizing that he hadn't managed to shift out of his large coat so it now enveloped him like a stifling straight jacket. The sun picked that time to peak through the haze of smoke, glaring down on him like a bug under a magnifying glass. Sweat pooled beneath him, at least that's what Sam told himself. _It might not be blood … _he thought desperately. The pain in his back and legs would beg to differ but he tried to ignore it. He had to get to the top of that hill. Had to prove he was worthy.

Somewhere above, Dean shouted and his voice echoed for what could be miles. Still, Sam allowed himself to sink back against the canister for a second of pain filled relief at hearing that Dean was alive before resuming his attempt to extricate himself from what felt like elephant skin. The struggle and wiggling cost him the last of his energy and he was still trapped. His fingers found the inside of the top clasp of the heavy coat and Sam unbuckled it, grateful for the first time for the enormity of the garment when he was able to slither on his back out of it, his head and shoulders hitting the ground roughly as they crested the canister. He took a deep breath, trying to let it out slowly but instead it was ripped from him in a choked sob of pain as his tailbone finally fell to the ground off the canister. His left leg rested still inside the coat. Sam reveled in the momentary feel of intense cold as air hit his body, causing his soaked undershirt to suck in against him like cold cloths, reviving him just a bit.

A loud screech from somewhere above the artificially darkened sky zapped that relief in an instant. It was coming back. Sam knew one thing, it wasn't a Black Sabbath. _But dragons don't exist …_

Sam got his hands beneath him and pushed himself up with a grunt, his legs sliding finally from the coat onto the scrub grass ground. He gritted his teeth to work himself free from the heavy pants. The huge boots were nowhere to be seen. The pants would never stay on now, having been rolled up four times as it was. Sam squinted in pain as he forced his arms over his head to take his tee shirt off. He tore strips of material to tie around his feet when he realized he'd never find the boots; now to stand up and make his way back to his family to kill the beast.

Easier said than done.

XXXX

The last Dean saw of Sam, he was clutched in a scaled talon, a massive eye raking over his dangling body even as he fumbled with the cross bow he'd grabbed just as he was swept from his feet. The beast had descended from Dean's vision, taking with it the one of the only thing that mattered to him in the world.

John had recovered enough to track Dean. He had to help his boys. It was his fault they were here.

"Sam! Sammy!" Dean screamed his brother's name over and over again into the blackness that surrounded them from the beast's latest fly-by kicking up dirt and soot into ever thickening swirls that disoriented him as he spun around looking for Sam.

A screech louder if possible than the first when Sam was taken away ripped through the hazy air currents distributing sound into stereo making it feel like the beast was everywhere, above, below, beside.

Dean, in full fight mode, struggled as two strong arms pulled him downward until he was lying on his belly and his father's face appeared in the smoke etched shield of his facemask. There was about twelve inches of cleaner air on the ground, as John held tight to Dean's mask, ordering him to take a minute to regain his bearings.

"Dad, Sammy … It got him," But it was _what_ that got Sam, Dean couldn't say out loud. _Because dragons don't exist._

Dean pushed against the ground to get up but John held him firmly in place.

"Dean stay down for a minute damn it! We're going after Sam, I just have to think for a minute."

"If you'd thought before we got here, Sam wouldn't be missing. He told you it wasn't a Black Sabbath, but you didn't listen to him and I _…" I didn't stick up for him. God, Sammy._

"How do you go after someone who's been flown away by a dragon?" Dean yelled. There he'd said it, even after telling Sam in the car how stupid he was for believing that dragons could be responsible for the damage done in these fires.

John wanted to deny it. He'd been hunting for sixteen years and no intelligence or instinct had indicated that dragons existed. Werewolves? _Sure_. Vampires? _You bet_. Wendgos? _Yep been-there-killed-that_. But dragons? Sam said so and that should have been good enough, at least to entertain the idea. Sam's research and shy, scared remarks about needing to do more research would be rewarded the way they usually were with a _why, yes Sam, there is a Santa Clause but there's also anti-clause and by the way, sorry-about-the-whole-dragon- killing-you-thing._

And still Dean looked to John with those trusting eyes for answers he couldn't give.

Hauling Dean to his feet, John checked his oldest over for any signs of injury, causing Dean to step back and glare angrily before grabbing the one cross bow that was left and shouldering the pack his dad had been carrying. John tried to hide the limp from the impact into the tree.

Dean started walking, using the boulder they'd hid under for cover as a marker. The smoke made it hard to keep from falling over rocks and uneven ground. John kept up. No limp would stop a marine and Dean knew in his heart that John hadn't meant for any of this to happen. It didn't lessen the anger. Dean needed that anger to keep going because when Sam dipped from sight in the beast's clutches, hope had abandoned him. Dean nearly tipped over the edge, not able to see where the steep incline started in time, but once again, strong arms held him in place. It was where Sam had gone over. It was the only place to start. They began the arduous trek down, ever cautious of the beast's return.

Twice now Dean tried to set out alone to find Sam but with the fire and unknown terrain he realized they had no choice but to stick together. He fought John each time a rest stop was called and a water bottle was shoved his way. Sam had no water. Sam had no rest.

Pushing to his feet and wiping blackened gloves across his facemask that was about as useless as a boarded up window as far as seeing was concerned, Dean pressed on. Spot fires burned all around them and made them go out of their way wasting time Sam didn't have. They abandoned their empty air tanks and walked straighter, coughing all the way.

The ground was mushy in spots. A water bomb had been dropped here recently. Dean turned back to tell John they had to go around the unstable ground when he stepped into a pit of bright orange embers. His jeans engulfed in flames and the rubber boots he was wearing started to melt and meld to his skin. Dean dropped and frantically tried to pull the boot off causing burnt rubber to stick to his hands and flames shot up his tee shirt. The ground shifted in the mud and fire and a branch from a nearby tree snapped like a twig and smacked across Dean's chest its dried leaves aglow with flame and singeing Dean's face.

John tackled Dean to the ground as another larger branch broke away and fell. He shucked his old turnout coat and smothered the flames on his son's body.

Dean lay in shock, no idea of how badly hurt he was. He rose to his feet before John could stop him and started off again. John wanted to stop him, knew he had to apply first aid immediately, but if they stopped here they'd surely perish. The fire was coming back to eat whatever the water bomb had interrupted. And they were going to be desert. Shock was a blessing at this point if it kept Dean on his feet but John had watched soldiers die after walking for miles after a dousing with Agent Orange or after a bombing. He walked beside his son the images of the dead-men-walking from his time in the war filling his heart with dread.

XXXX

Sam staggered upright, feet wrapped like a mummy. There was nothing he could do about the blood that dripped slowly down his back, dying his new foot dressings bright red after tickling down his legs through his torn jeans. He reluctantly shouldered the huge canister, putting the end of the tube between his teeth and closing his parched lips around it sucking what little air managed to trickle through. It was better than nothing.

Sam didn't know what direction the car was and when he turned to look up, his stomach sank in the knowledge that he didn't have the strength to get back up the hill to his family.

"Dean!" Sam called, in what he hoped was a strong enough voice to reach his brother's ears. He might as well have been trying to throw an anvil up to the top for all the volume his tortured throat managed.

John's words bled into his waning consciousness. _If you're lost, stay in one spot, and we'll come for you. _It was the Boy Scout way, the marine way and an order. But right now, the ever-increasing heat, cinders and smoke begged to differ. Sam knew if he stayed here, even if his dad and Dean found him, all that would be left would be burned bones. In the back of his confused mind, this appealed to Sam. It was the hunter way and if he was going to die, he wanted to be burned because if he came back as an angry spirit he'd shove his dragon research right up his father's …

_Okay, Sam, get it together_, he ordered himself, worrying a little when he answered himself, _yes sir._

A gust of wind propelled Sam downward and with every twenty-foot drop in altitude the air cleared a little more. Small, jagged pebbles embedded into the foot dressing tore into his bruised feet. He sucked on the tube clutched in his aching jaw but he'd bitten down on it pain until it was flattened. It was like breathing through a straw that was encased in the dregs of coke in a paper cup. Small animals that would normally shy away from humans ran in frenzied fear past him. Sam remembered the deer and birds taking off past the Impala. He turned himself in the diagonal descent that the little forest creatures had taken. Hopefully they'd make it to safety. Hopefully he'd make it to the Impala and dad and Dean would be waiting. First he'd hug them, then he'd make like an angry spirit and shove his dragon research up … And he used that thought to propel him downward.

XXXX

Sirens in the distance indicated the new strategy of the fire department. More people were to die because they didn't know what they were dealing with.

XXXX

Fred Sanders shouted orders to his crew. They were to clear land from the logging road Southward, hoping to contain the fire. Civilians from the logging company volunteered heavy equipment and worked alongside the fire department, plucking trees from the ground as easily as picking flowers.

"Crap!" muttered Sanders as the soot-covered Impala came into view. He ordered the car towed away as soon as possible, not wanting a gas tank explosion should they be unable to keep the fire at bay. The old fire chief ordered his crew to be on the lookout for the idiots who owned the car. He wondered why people would literally play with fire. Didn't they know better? Did they come from a place where the Smokey The Bear never visited? After all, his own son was a trained volunteer fireman of five years experience and he was in the ICU right now, having been burned in the last fire that tore through a neighboring district.

Large machines dug trenches on the far side of the logging road. Firefighters were ordered to check homes and cabins within a ten-mile radius and soon, water bombers would begin grid patterns over the fire, trying to douse it. For a young fire, it was spreading fast.

Fred was bothered by the patterns of this fire, because it was the same as the others that plagued the area for months. He didn't want to think of the painkiller-induced ramblings from his son about the winged beast who breathed fire. No. It had to be arson. More than one person had to be involved too, because there had been more than one starting point in the other fires according to aerial reports.

The tow truck showed up to haul the Impala away just as the wind changed right on time according to the latest weather reports. The air was clearer, cleaner. As Fred watched the Impala round the bend in the road on the back of the flat bed, he shook his head as the red, round brake lights of the sleek black car flashed back at him like accusing eyes. From the amount of soot on the car, the occupants couldn't have been the arsonists, for the starting points were too far away, still Fred intended to put the fear of God and fire into their souls for being here. He cursed the fools loudly as he looked at his watch, unable to wait for the owners to return. Now he'd have to put his crew at risk to go look for them.

Three teams of two were ordered up the hill in three different diagonal patterns. Gut instinct never let Fred down and he knew the occupants of the car had gone toward the fire and not away. Fools rush in after all. His son joked about that before shock had taken his senses. It was the last words his son had said in weeks. Fred ordered a water bomber, informing his team he would radio them before the drop.

XXXX

An airplane in the distance filled Sam with hope until he realized it was a water bomber. There was nowhere to find cover.

A rush of water filling his ears like a waterfall, Sam knelt, covering his head for all the good it would do. The water dropped somewhere to his right sending a wall of steam and red hot orange embers so intense he feared he would boil rather than barbecue. The crackling of the flames he'd caught brief glimpses of stilled and were replaced by the hissing of instant condensation as the fire fought for its life.

Ash and hot red cinders blistered Sam's cloth-bound feet and ate holes in his jeans burning his legs. He tried to spit out the tube in his mouth but it clung to his parched lips until he pulled it away, tiny beads of blood flowing into his mouth. The oxygen canister was empty. He threw it to the ground and tried to straighten his shoulders. Acrid steam from the water drop overtook him. In one last-ditch effort his feet moved him a bit further down the hill. It was a mistake to rake his hand across his eyes. Dizzying lines of charcoal black filled his vision. There were no more tears left to clear them, no sweat left to cool him. Each step was agony as skin pulled too taut and the remaining dried salt from his body's efforts to cool tortured him further. _Isn't a person supposed to be dead before they're salted and burned? _he wondered bitterly.

Sam tried to remain upright. His stomach rebelled at the constant effort to pull in air only to cough out black soot that would make a fifty-year, three packs a day smoker blanch in disgust. Heat pushed him to his knees like a medieval soldier waiting for beheading; only Sam knew this death would not be quick. Would not be easy. If he had a voice, he would have cried out in pain as he crawled along the forest floor.

His hands slipped from beneath him and he groped blindly before falling over a steep ledge. He closed his eyes out of pure reflex; smoke had long since blinded all things in the forest. It was a long drop, made almost comical because Sam found out something; life really does flash before your eyes, as you're about to die. And it does so in infinitesimal measurements of time. The gap between space and the sudden stop at the bottom hung like an old cartoon. _Meep Meep! Look, Dean I'm the Road Runner! _Sanity left at the kindest possible time as Sam's body slammed down and the bright cartoons in his head turned out the light.

XXXX

When Sam woke he expected a world of pain to greet him, or pearly gates, or hell, but not this … He was lying curled on his side in a slick, snot-like gelatin. Something white and chalky lay over his entire body and with much effort he pushed it off of him and it crumbled. The absence of the thin covering caused Sam to shiver. Evening had fallen over the forest. The air wasn't clear but a few stars blinked through the thinning smoke.

Sam choked and his stomach churned, throwing out some of the gelatinous muck he must have swallowed while unconscious. Large quantities of the black soot mixed with the vile stuff but when Sam's coughs finally quieted, he lay back exhausted but slightly clearer headed. Pain shot through his body when he tried to sit up and his hands slipped in the muck keeping him down.

Sam passed a hand over his face wearily, forgetting the muck and spreading it over his entire his face with one swoop. The burns on his face were soothed instantly and he sighed in relief. Sam tried to stay calm, assessing his injuries. He shivered in the wetness that while a blessing to his burns made his teeth chatter. His shoulder no long felt like part of his body and lifting his other arm was practically impossible. With a thrill of horror, he realized he was naked.

Forgetting the pain momentarily, Sam once again tried to sit. He managed to edge upwards using the white chalk like wall behind his back. What he saw when he managed a half sit up made him want to lie back down again.

Three sets of large green eyes stared at him.

_Okay, so, I knocked my head harder than I thought. Or this place is hiding a nuclear plant somewhere and these are giant radioactive lizards. _

Sam closed his eyes and tried pulling in a few deep breaths but it was too painful. When he reopened his eyes to a loud burping noise and a small, Bic lighter sized flame shot over his head he knew for certain. _Dragons do exist. And apparently they have babies. Honest-to-God fire breathing babies. _

Sam forced himself to a kneeling position so he could see over the sticks and mud piled about five feet all around him and the three babies, which were almost his size. He had to get out of here before he became dinner.

One of the baby dragons pawed at the smoke emanating from his sibling's nostrils and proceeded to mimic the fiery burp. All that was accomplished was a smoke ring and the baby that had burped fire knocked the one who had made a smoke ring over with its tail causing it to wail loudly.

Flapping in the distance sped Sam's heart and reminded him of the wounds in his back and shoulders, which pumped blood freely once again. Mama was coming to check on the wailing baby. Sam grabbed the edge of the nest, preparing to climb out or fall on his ass to the ground, whichever came first and get the hell out of there. He got his left leg up and over the side of the nest, sticks tearing at his chest as he let himself drop to the ground with a cry of pain as he landed on his wounded shoulder. He rolled to his back, coughing up more of the black goo that had been jarred loose from the impact with the ground. Tears of fear and pain leaked from his eyes and he curled into a ball.

Sam's face screwed up with pain and the inevitable as the rush of cold from the flapping of wings hovering over him. He held his breath when a huge talon wrapped around his waist picked him up, more gently than the shoulder-piercing ride he remembered only now. The dangling sensation was the same as before when he fell or was dropped, he couldn't remember. He opened his eyes. Some stupid part of him wanted to view the nest from above, wanted to see the dragons one last time even though he wouldn't be able to tell Dean about them. And it wasn't about just the bragging rights anymore. It was sharing something wonderful, deadly, but still amazing with his big brother.

Sam braced himself for the fall, waiting to be torn apart for meat. Instead he was dunked fully into what he now understood was a fairly freshly-hatched dragon egg. He spluttered and coughed out more black goo and the baby dragons turned their attention back to him.

"What? I can't breathe fire if that's what you're waiting for before you eat me," Sam wheezed. The goo was cold. "And you better just eat me soon because I'm going cold," he added defiantly.

A whoosh of warm air rushed over the nest taking Sam's last strength and false bravado with it. The goo he lay in warmed and Sam welcomed unconsciousness as mama dragon blew fire over the nest, probably to cook dinner … him. _Huh, I'm a poached egg._

XXXX

John stood beside Dean by a small lake. Dean's leg dangled in the water and when he tried to withdraw it and stand, he was gently pushed back down. John ended his call from his satellite phone with the fire department.

"Dad, you shouldn't have called them. I'm fine. I need to find Sam." Dean's eyes were huge with shock setting in. John worried about the cleanliness of the lake and infection but he'd had no choice but to get the burns cooled.

"Your chest and leg is burned, Dean. You have to go to the hospital." _And your face …_

"I'm sorry, dad. I heard the branch snap but I couldn't get out from under it with the gear on and when the sparks landed I couldn't exactly stop drop and roll."

John looked at his eldest. Without the gear, Dean looked small, not as small as Sam, but not like the grown up marine John usually saw. They'd walked for miles through smoke and burning embers only admitting they had to go lower and get in the opposite direction of the smoke when it became clear that not doing so would mean certain death. They could only hope that Sam was still alive.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Dean."

"Sammy's dead isn't he?" Dean's voice shook and even in the dim light of the few stars that reflected into the glassy surface of the lake he saw the truth in his father's eyes.

"We don't know that, Dean. Sammy's a fighter. If there was anyone who could get out of this, it would be him." _If only I'd told Sam as much when I had the chance._ _Now I could lose both of them. Fire. Again … and a dragon, Sam. Son, you were … oh God, ARE so smart. You're so like your mom. _

"But I heard the fireman tell you that they hadn't found him when you called on the satellite phone." Dean pulled John out of his thoughts.

Dean coughed roughly and closed his eyes. _God, Sammy, where are you? _He could no longer support himself perched at the edge of the lake. His elbows that were supporting his torso as his leg soaked gave and he would have pitched into the lake if John hadn't caught his shoulders. John sat and positioned himself behind his son, cradling his back to his chest and held him, feeling the shudders pulse through him. It would be several hours for the fire department to reach them and the smoke had thickened considerably since he'd called Bobby for help. John couldn't bear to tell Dean that.

Dean pressed the back of his head against his father's body. The burns on his chest felt like they were eating further into his body until they'd consume him. He opened his eyes back up, reaching up to try to peel his shirt away from his torso. A piece of material the size of a baseball had melted to his skin.

John reached around Dean to grasp his hands gently, trying to find a way to hold on without hurting his son further. The outer layer of Dean's hands were in tatters from extricating himself from the burning branch that had fallen on him earlier.

"Dean, I spoke to the medics. Don't peel the shirt away. I know it hurts, son. They'll be here soon."

Dean tried to be the soldier he'd been taught to be. He tried to breathe through the white-hot agony. Shame overtook him as he let out a sob of pain for himself and for his brother.

Somewhere off in the distance, the sound of heavy equipment chopping its way through the forest toward them stilled Dean. And there was another sound. Screaming. It was Sam. He'd know that sound anywhere.

XXXX

Sam awoke, which to him was miraculous enough. The toenail moon gave its meager light as Sam mentally counted fingers, toes and limbs. They were all there. He hadn't become a snack pack for his nest mates. Yet.

The goo Sam lay in was still warm. The baby dragons were asleep, curled around the nest so tightly in a ball that it was hard to tell where one began and one ended. One of the babies sucked on the tail of his sibling. Sam thought now might be a good time to escape. Modesty returned to him temporarily as he gathered up a piece of thick egg membrane to tie around his waist. It was then he realized he'd gotten to his knees with relatively less pain than he'd passed out with. His left arm was still useless, the shoulder hanging oddly and a couple of his ribs still floated freely in his torso but his legs … _The burns are gone. _Sam drew his feet together. The burns on his feet were gone too. _What the?_

Sam didn't have time to finish his wonder. He tied another piece of membrane from the inside of the egg around his neck to hold his left arm, taking pressure off his shoulder and chest. As he tied it he noticed lumps on both collarbones. Broken no doubt. He pulled in a few breaths of air, preparing to try to climb out of the nest again. He didn't know why he wasn't eaten yet but he wasn't going to stick around for another course.

Sam gripped the edge of the nest with his right hand and prepared to endure the pain of the climb out when he came face to face with mama dragon. He found out his lungs were stronger, not healed completely by any means but he bellowed a healthy scream at the proximity of those huge eyes, that hot nose, those Buick sized teeth. Sam fell back into his egg, covering his head and waiting once again for the blow of death.

Mama dragon cocked her head to the side like a cocker spaniel. She opened her huge mouth and Sam gagged at the smell. He was pelted with slime and whatever was being thrown at him woke the babies.

The babies launched into a feeding frenzy. Dozens of fish, some of them still wiggling littered the nest. The biggest baby, first hatched Sam surmised before he heard Dean's voice in his head, _only you would think of order of hatching when you're probably desert geek boy, _breathed fire onto the fish in his clumsy talons and ate it in one swallow. The smallest baby blew smoke rings onto its dinner, wailing when it wouldn't cook. The medium baby just set about eating as many fish as it could, wiggling or not.

"I'll call you Dean," Sam told the one eating sushi. He wasn't getting out of here anytime soon, if at all, and somehow thinking of Dean's humor, even in situations like this sustained him.

It didn't dawn on Sam that he might live through this until the mama dragon shoved a huge lake trout toward him. One of his nest mates stepped on the fish at his feet, making a popping noise emanate that nearly made Sam throw up.

"Oh! You want me to eat that?" The fish were nearly all gone and the mother dragon pushed the puddle of squished fish toward him again.

A gurgling noise was the only thing that could take Sam's eyes off the mother dragon. He turned to the largest baby dragon to see its tummy area, the only part of the creature not covered in thick body armor that resembled seashells visibly shifting. The two siblings made yipping noises and scrambled to the opposite side of the nest where Sam stood. A huge burp resounded, followed by a ball of fire that would rival a flamethrower.

The mother dragon dropped her nose onto the fire breather momentarily before scooping the one who could make smoke rings. She used her huge tail to swipe across its back and caused a hoola hoop sized smoke ring to belch out of the baby. Next she tried to swing her tail to the final baby but it ducked her blow and proceeded to Hoover up Sam's trout mush.

"It's okay, Dean I didn't want it anyway," Sam told the dragon. Saying Dean's name sent a pang of guilt through Sam. He'd screwed up. The babies were big and relatively clueless. The mother dragon didn't seem to want to hurt him. He'd sort of figured out why the forest fires happened every forty years. The babies were getting big, he surmised that when they started exploring outside the nest, their burps and play would no doubt start fires. Dragons stay babies for years, according to lore, so a nest every forty years didn't seem unreasonable.

It occurred to Sam that he could make up for his uselessness by killing the dragons while mama was away. It was what John would do; at least he thought it was. There were no grey areas to John Winchester. No innocent supernatural creatures. If it wasn't listed in the Noah's Ark book of animals, it got killed, period. And Dean would do what he was told.

Sam studied the pink stomach areas on the babies. Mama dragon's belly was covered in the same thick shells as the rest of her body, save for one missing scale about four inches by four inches, right on her underbelly. Just like in the books. Just like in the movies. Just where a hunter would aim to kill. Sam still feared for his life. But to think of these creatures being killed to extinction … again, made him sick.

Sam's eyes grew wide when mama dragon picked him up and swiped her tail across his back. _She thinks I'm hers! _He thought as the pain spiked through his back from the intended burp. He cried out in agony and was placed swiftly back into the goo, his breaths labored as more black soot made its way back out of his body via his nose and mouth. He curled onto his side coughing loudly and painfully.

XXXX

"SAM!" Dean shouted, pushing out of his father's grip and standing, his leg slipping on the muddy riverbank.

"Dean, be quiet, we need to hear from what direction the sound came," John ordered, trying to sweep Dean's feet from under him. The medic on the phone had instructed him to keep Dean still.

"Over there," Dean said determined to stalk off in the direction his index finger pointed, skin dangling from the tip grotesquely.

John knew Dean was right but Dean's momentary adrenaline rush was over. Dean gripped his father's jacket tightly, trying in vain to remain upright, to get to his brother.

"Sam's alive, dad," Dean wheezed. "We need to get him." Dean's eyes rolled back in his head momentarily and John guided him to a graceless heap on the ground.

John wrapped his outer shirt and heavy coat around Dean's shoulders and held him, feeling helpless as Dean began to murmur. How he wished he couldn't understand what Dean was saying in his delirium. Shock had taken hold firmly.

"Hang on for me a little longer, Dean. They're coming. We'll help Sammy too."

"Dad, give him to me. Give the baby to me. I promise this time I'll take care of him. He won't burn again like mommy did. I know it's my job. I'm sorry. Give him to me please. I promise I'll get him out. I won't lose him. Please daddy."

John's head swiveled from looking toward where Sam's scream had come from down to his eldest whose tears streaked through his soot covered hair and down his face, making tracks of too pale skin beneath. Small burns surely stung from the salt of the tears but Dean didn't flinch. He'd grown too still, no longer shivering.

John tried not to be a father. He tried to be the marine, the trained, hardened machine that had a decision to make. Go save the son who was screaming strongly or stay beside the one who was almost sure to die from shock before the fire department could arrive.

Dean made the decision for him. John just wished it wasn't the four-year-old Dean that did it.

"Daddy, Sammy's crying."

John placed his hands on either side of Dean's face, trying to talk to his son, possibly for the last time past the lump in his throat.

"Dean, it's okay. I'm going to get Sammy. I'm going to bring him back here. You have to stay here, son, okay?" Not that John seriously thought Dean could get back up at this point, but it was Dean he was dealing with here and when it came to Sam, Dean could do the impossible at times.

John sat Dean up very carefully and held the bottle of water to his lips. Dean took a small sip but coughed it back up. Dehydration was setting in, all stacking up against his chances of survival.

Dean gave one more shudder of pain before his eyes closed and no longer moved under their lids like before. John reached out his hand and held his breath as he checked Dean's barely there pulse. He kissed Dean's forehead and stood up. He tied bright orange reflectors that he'd cut away from the fire gear to a tree over Dean's head.

XXXX

John shouldered his pack, climbing steadily back up the hill. As he gained altitude, his view of the fire was renewed. The fire department had knocked it down considerably and he could see the line the heavy equipment made trying to get to them. He estimated another hour or more before they'd arrive and he hoped to have Sam by then and be back to Dean.

John tried to walk lightly so he could listen for any more sounds from Sam. They'd searched all day and to think that Sam may be no more than two miles away from them when Dean had been pinned by the falling tree limb, ramped up his anger toward the beast and kept his fatigue plagued body going.

XXXX

Sam tried to shift into a position that would take the pressure off his chest and shoulder. It was impossible. He concentrated on taking shallow breaths even though his nest mates reacted to the fish they'd eaten like children who'd eaten a bag of candy. He was going to be trampled. It was certain.

The mama dragon lay curled around the nest, the babies using her tail to climb out of the nest and nuzzle around her long neck before using her long snout as a slide.

"You're a good mother," Sam said, gazing into the eyes that were expressive like no other beast's. There was a wistful tinge to the words. "And I think Dean (Sam looked toward the sushi eater) will look after the smaller ones. He's kinda like my brother, Dean. He'll eat anything. He'd eat a squashed pie … Hell, he'd probably eat the sushi you served for supper.

Animals who hadn't fled or died hooted in muted tones throughout the forest. The sounds were dulled and echoing as though trying to take up space where vibrant lush forest once stood.

And through it all, Sam could hear … It was unmistakable. His father's birdcall. The one that they used as a signal in situations like this … well, not like _this _exactly, but it was music to Sam's ears.

Sam fought to his feet, pushed past the pain and yelled. "Here! Dean! Dad!" Then Sam clamped his hands over his mouth in horror. In a few minutes, John and Dean would no doubt storm the nest, guns and bows blazing.

Sam no longer paid heed to his hurts. He grabbed onto the mother dragon's snout and extricated himself from the nest. Once on the ground, the mother flicked her tail in invitation for Sam to use it to slide back down where he belonged. Sam shook his head, feeling stupid, as if she could ever understand.

Just then, mama's nose went up in the air, puffs of smoke suddenly pouring from her nostrils like she was preparing to blast. She turned in the direction that John had bird called from. Sam took the opportunity to take one last look at the miracle before him and took off around the nest in the opposite direction from his father, preparing to double back and lead him away from the dragons. Sam made it about two hundred feet before the mother obviously noticed he was gone. A loud screech, followed by a gunshot and deadly silence stopped Sam in his tracks. Sam turned around and ran back.

"Dad! Dean! Stop! Please!" Sam begged. The run exhausted his last reserves and he looked around his father in the small depression in the rocky ledge for Dean. Sam stood between the nest and his father, whose gun was raised to kill.

"Sammy, it's okay son, just walk forward slowly and get behind me," John instructed looking like Goliath about to take down a giant. Truth was, John was scared. He knew he hit the beast the moment it breathed fire over his head.

Sam looked to the mother dragon towering before her nest, which was shielded from John's view. She flicked her tail at any baby who tried to raise its head from the nest.

"Dad, you can't. It didn't kill me. It doesn't understand. It's not evil …"

"Sam I'm not going to tell you again, walk forward, that's an order son."

"No." Sam felt sick. He'd said no to his father a handful of times in the past and usually earned he and Dean extra laps or training. Dean sometimes tried to defend Sam but more often than not he'd run the extra laps and plead with Sam to stop trying the man's patience, however thin it was.

Sam looked around with bleary, tear filled eyes for his support. For a distraction, even Dean calling him a girl right now would do, anything to get John's attention away from that nest. And then it hit him.

"Where's Dean?"

The gun faltered in John's hands.

"No …" Sam begged. "No." Sam's already feeble breaths hitched. He stumbled forward, eyes wildly searching the woods behind his father. His head swam. He turned around, staring into the eyes of the dragon. If his brother was dead, her kind was responsible. But it was an accident, right? Surely dragons had been breeding here unnoticed for centuries before humans encroached?

Sam's knees buckled just as John shot again. The sound shattered in his head. He curled on the ground as the dragon rose higher and shot flame closer this time, above John's head.

"Please, no," Sam begged, wishing that he'd never seen a dragon, wishing that they didn't exist, that the world was black and white or at least that he could learn to see it that way.

Sam managed to crouch as John loaded the gun again. He stared between the mother and his father in silent prayer as his mind numbed along with his body and the stars blinked out one by one as his vision narrowed to blackness.

"Sammy!" John shouted. He ran toward his youngest but was swept away by an inferno of heat as fire rushed by his head so close his hair stood on end. The gun fell from his grasp as the dragon bent her muzzle toward the boy.

John caught site of the nest, of the three babies. He paused. Sam would just have to understand if they made it out of this alive. The dragons had to die. John was a smart man. It didn't take him long to see the soft underbelly of the infants. He tucked the details away in the back of his mind and approached his son on the ground.

Mama dragon pawed at the dirt around Sam as if in challenge to John. It was only now that John could see that she intended to keep his son. With every foot he walked toward Sam, she hissed louder.

Strange bits of one-sided conversation jumbled in Sam's mind. He tried to rise to consciousness but couldn't find his way.

"You're not taking my son. No one's taking him. We'll protect him," John vowed vehemently.

_We? Is Dean here? _Hope flared in Sam and he forced his eyes open. As soon as he did, he wished he hadn't. He'd only seen his dad cry twice, once on a particularly bad anniversary of his mother's death and once when Child Protective Services had taken he and Dean away for a week, promising John that he'd never get them back, and both times, John had been a drunken wreck. Sober tears were way scarier.

"He's mine, do you hear me? He's not taking him and neither are you." Again, Sam wondered who _he _was that his dad mentioned.

It was scaring Sam, the determination in his father's words that were mixed with equal amounts of fear and bravado. With one last puff of warm air, mama dragon backed up until she crouched over her nest. Sam felt instantly cold.

Sam tried to protest when he was picked up into his father's arms but his head lolled against his chest. For some reason he felt smaller with his dad than he had minutes ago with the massive dragon. He'd just never measure up.

John turned his back on the dragon, hating with every fiber of his being that he couldn't finish this hunt tonight. Hating that Sam blamed himself, hating himself that he hadn't checked Sam's equipment and that he made it impossible for Sam to speak up and tell him it didn't fit before he got hurt. And the closer he got to Dean, the more he hated himself for bringing his boys here, for probably killing the one person who could translate the strange language John and Sam had.

Sam's makeshift sling slipped as John lost his footing and stumbled. Sam woke to agony, gritting his teeth as bone shifted against bone in his torso. John gripped Sam tighter and repositioned him making shushing sounds like he used to when he'd walk the floor with Sam right after Mary's death. Each step John took made Sam an extra shade of pale.

John pushed on to place Sam down next to Dean. Sam moaned a few times, his head tossing back and forth before stilling. John's hand shook as he reached for Dean's neck. The skin was so cold he almost drew his hand back, biting his lip. There it was, not much, but a weak pulse, the slightest rise and fall of breath barely enough to keep a hamster alive John reckoned, wishing for help to arrive soon.

John's whole body jumped when a cold hand encircled his wrist that remained on Dean's jugular.

"Da…" It was barely a breath. "Smmy?" Dean's eyes opened, fluttering as he fought to keep them fixed on Sam.

"Smmeee, s … I … I'm so … sorry …s'my job … I thought … I thought I got you out." Dean's eyes closed and his hands drew up to his chest and began rocking as though he were holding a baby.

John held Sam's right hand and Dean's left. He barely heard the heavy equipment edging ever closer to them.

"They're here!" someone shouted. Four firefighters ran toward them with backboards and cases of equipment.

John answered questions as best he could. Exhaustion was setting in and the news from the firefighters didn't give him much encouragement, as he held tight to his son's hands despite being told three times to step back.

A confirmation of shock was made in Dean's case and Dean squeezed John's hand tightly before his grasp went limp as the firefighters poured a clear liquid from a bag over his chest and leg. Dean's whole body jerked convulsively and he screamed so loud it brought false hope to John for a minute.

"He's crashing!" a medic yelled.

Other than the one yell, the rest of the conversation was quiet and calm as orders were given. John's heart shattered as his hand was pulled away when someone instructed everyone to clear away. Paddles were applied to Dean's already burned chest and John breathed again as one hit brought Dean back. He found his son's hand again just as medic snatched it away to insert an IV line. Someone else started another IV in Dean's neck and he was wrapped in sterile blankets and lifted onto the backboard.

Sam's self-applied sling and other coverings from the nest were stripped away and he was wrapped up from his feet to his neck. Heavy strips of gauze wound around the backboard secured his head and IV's were started.

Sam woke, grasping onto the hand in his. He couldn't turn his head. His heart raced. He remembered gunshots, being carried, and Dean, something about him saying he was sorry. Guilt built up and he wished it was Dean who was holding his hand. Defiance welled in Sam and he tried to let go of his dad's hand. John's heart broke as he looked over at Dean and gripped Sam's hand tight enough for both of them. Sam dissolved in tears, reaffirming his grip as pain and grief overtook him.

"Dad?" Sam's voice was small, pain filled and leaden with fear.

"Yeah, kiddo, I'm here," John answered and for the first time in years, Sam believed him.

"Dean's burned really bad, isn't he?"

John wanted to lie. Usually, the marine told things as they were. Suck it up, his favorite motto but as he looked from Dean to Sam he found he couldn't, found that even though he hated to admit it, he was proud of how Dean always got the girl. His boys were handsome, Mary's contribution he felt, and now Dean lay, his face a mask of burns that would scar him for life, if he even lived. And how screwed up was it that John should care about how his soldiers looked? This is when the father, John Winchester reared his weak head, the one who cared but pretended not to when his boys got good grades, the one who cared but couldn't show it when his boys set a new record in their training or other such pursuits. The one who would have to meld with the marine if Dean lived and be tough, getting him past the pain and the scars, to accept that he wouldn't look like the cocky young man who had so bravely walked into these woods today to slay a beast. The one who wouldn't see his wife's eyes and gentle smile in his oldest son's face any longer.

"Yeah, Sammy, he is. But Dean's tough. He's going to be okay. You need to relax," John told him not believing a word. The medic encouraged John to try to distract Sam from the pain as they secured his broken bones.

"It's my fault if Dean dies," Sam told John, his lip trembling even as he bit it in bitter agony as a needle pierced his arm in the crook of his elbow. Warmth spread up his arm into his chest and as a mask was fit over his face, his eyes rolled back in his head.

Dean and Sam were loaded onto the ATV and there was no room on the back for John. He reluctantly gave up his grasp of Sam's hand and climbed into the front as instructed. The fire hadn't reached the road yet. The wind was shifting. A helicopter was dispatched and would meet them down on the main road if possible.

The ride was bumpy and the ATV was open to the elements. Even with the pain meds Sam had been given, his eyes snapped open whenever the vehicle went over a particularly rough patch of terrain. John leaned over the seat trying to reassure Sam, wishing he could be beside him.

Fred Sanders, the old Fire Captain was driving the ATV. He'd fully intended to tear a strip off of the father who sat beside him for taking his sons into the middle of a raging fire, but there was something about the man's demeanor that stopped him. It was a police matter anyway, he told himself. He'd gotten a name from the father but nothing more so he tried some small talk. It looked like the distraught father could use some medical help himself but when anyone tried to touch him he turned them away.

The ATV followed the heavier equipment on the same path they'd used to get here. Fred was in the middle of deep thought when he heard the medic call for a halt. Dean had stopped breathing.

Two medics tilted Dean's head back as a third inserted a tube down his throat. In seconds the tube was connected to a portable ventilator and all eyes turned to Dean's chest which began to rise and fall.

The halt awakened Sam in a panic. Voices filled with forced calm made him want to turn his head to find his brother. His head was still firmly strapped to the backboard when a loud guttural roar filled the air. A shadow fell before him blocking out the moon and the stars just above the canopy of trees that had escaped the fire save for soot-covered trunks.

Everyone including those working on Dean tilted their heads towards the sky in horror as John jumped from the ATV gun in hand.

"NO!" shouted Sam. They were too near the nest. Mama was mad.

Three shots rang out but still the dragon loomed over them screeching.

Adrenaline filled Sam's body and he reached up with his good hand and unfastened the Velcro straps that held the bindings around his head. The morphine he'd been given was a blessing and a hindrance. He sat up, grimacing in a pain but able to slide off the backboard and the back of the ATV without being noticed by the firefighters and medics.

John got the crossbow out of his bag and as this was his sort of job, he ordered the medics and firefighters to get the hell away and he'd take care of this while they took care of his sons.

Only one problem. Sam was gone.

Sam used the adrenaline rush to propel him toward the nest. He knew his father would get there first if he didn't hurry and despite the bone deep pain he kept going. He heard the ATV start moving again. His father was calling his name. He couldn't answer.

Fred Sanders ordered his second in command to drive the ATV and he set off after John, who was limping badly. He had to know who these men were. He had to know what that beast was and help kill it for his son; for the others who had been injured; for the houses that had burned.

Fred caught up to John who tried to order him out of harm's way. John met his match where revenge seeking was concerned. The old firefighter wouldn't budge. John thrust a gun in his hands and told him about the underbellies of the spawn in the nest. _Babies_ Sam had called them. The boy needed to grow up.

The mother dragon landed in front of her nest, wings outstretched as John fired bow after bow. The bows tattered the wings a bit but didn't penetrate. They bounced off of her until the arrows were spent.

Fred snuck around the nest, gun in his shaking arms. The beast would pay for the injuries to his son. Fred aimed, then a boy stepped in front of the baby dragons.

"Don't shoot!" John yelled.

The bullet had been squeezed out a fraction of a second too late for the warning. Sam's eyes widened as he went down.

John stared, horrified. Fred dropped to his knees in shock.

There were no more bullets or bows left.

The mother dragon screeched loudly once more before she turned her back on the men, seemingly without a care about them and their toys.

The bullet had grazed Sam's temple, leaving him almost deaf. Puffs of warm breath that still smelled of lake trout washed over him as he opened his eyes. His voice came out gravelly as he tried to speak.

"You're gonna die here if you don't go. I wish you could understand me. My dad won't stop until you're dead. I'm sorry." Sam's eyes closed momentarily as the nest jostled and felt like it was folding in on itself. The babies stumbled around him to the point where he was sure he'd be trampled. He had to get up.

Sam stood on wobbly legs, finding his father as he scanned the ground.

"Sam. I'm coming toward you. I'm going to get you out." John approached the nest. The mother dragon continued to spit on the dried sticks as if trying to make the mud sturdier. The babies were agitated and hissing and spitting little smoke rings. When John got close enough to touch the nest, a giant tail thundered onto the ground knocking him to his knees.

"No, please." The mother dragon turned her eyes to Sam. John was no longer a threat. He was close enough to swallow in one bite. She studied Sam closely and sniffed him. The way she sniffed him was different than when she'd caught the scent of the other men. Sam remembered that lore on dragons revealed that they could detect pheromones and hormones and probably sensed that he was not fully mature yet. For once, being small and young for his age paid off. He'd heard of cats adopting squirrels and other animals adopting outside their species but this was ridiculous.

Mother dragon stomped her huge feet. Again Sam pleaded for her to stop and for John to stop trying to find a way to kill her. He turned to look into the mother's eyes knowing full well she couldn't understand a word he said. She ignored him as much as his father did.

Sam shouted as she suddenly picked up the entire nest in her talons and rose twenty feet into the air.

He leaned over the edge of the nest. His father reached for him. Sam leaned more as the mother dragon looked down at him. She flapped against the ground and lowered another few feet as if she knew Sam was going to jump. The nest began to break apart and she changed tactics and swooped off, putting the nest gently down fifty feet to the right.

John took off with Fred, hoping to whatever god existed that he could get to Sam in time.

This time mama didn't let John approach. Fire raced over his head and he was forced to cover his face and kneel.

Sam was on his last reserves. Even the morphine he'd been given couldn't quell the pain. A huge snout was placed near his head. He feebly reached up and stroked it, clumsily scratching around the nostril, which was the size of his head and could just as easily inhale him whole. He cried out, not in additional agony but in shock as he was placed back in the goo he'd started out his little adventure in. Mama breathed fire and warmth swept over him like before sending him into a momentary oblivion. He felt like he was floating. The goo was warm.

When Sam opened his eyes, he was half lying, half sitting in the broken eggshell. Mama screeched in clear warning toward John as she took off into night sky with her babies. John aimed his crossbow up into the sky breathing heavily. It was now or never. The arrow left the bow thudding four feet in front of John who had lowered it at the last minute. He just couldn't do it. Mama adjusted her grip on her babies and disappeared, her brindle and purplish hued scales becoming part of the bruised horizon.

John wasted no time getting to Sam. He and Fred lifted Sam from the ooze as the boy muttered incoherently. Fred took off his large coat, which fell to Sam's knees when John wrapped him in it and used his radio to call for another medical evacuation.

John cradled Sam's head as Fred tried to stop the bleeding from his temple.

"Dad … she … she gave us … um … the goo … egg … um. I'm not … I was burned dad … heals burns dad." He held up his hand with goo dripping from listless fingers staring at it with glassy eyes.

"Sh, Sam don't try to talk," John soothed, hating to hear his son so confused.

Fred remembered saying the same thing to his son, as he lay burned and delirious.

"Keep 'em talking, John," Fred advised. "It'll help against the shock."

"So you survived a dragon attack eh, Sammy. Wait 'til you tell Dean …"

Sam's eyes opened. After everything that had just happened, John still called this a dragon attack?

Sam's vision was graying around the edges. Tears leaked from his eyes. He could save his brother if he could only figure out to get the words out. His ears rang from the gunshot blast so close to his head. The morphine, while no longer doing much but mildly dull the horrific pain in his shoulder and back was playing with him.

Sam got angry. He had to.

"T …t…told you dad. Dragon. Damn it! The goo …" He waved it around helplessly with his good hand as it dangled from his fingers. John shook himself slightly, remembering the burned skin hanging off of Dean's hands.

"I was …_what's the damned word again! _B … urned. Dad." Sam took as much air as he could before the sounds of one of the ATV's returning muddled his waning concentration more. "It heals dad. E … egg. She … saved me."

Sam went limp in John's arms but he was still breathing. John wanted to discount everything Sam had said but after what he'd done today, not believing in the boy who was so smart, he couldn't do it. And he owed it to Dean to listen to Sam for once.

John had to trust the medics to carry Sam to the ATV and hook him up to all the equipment he'd Houdinied out of. John and Fred carried the half washing machine sized eggshell filled with goo to the ATV and secured it to a side seat.

One of Fred's crew informed them that Dean was very critical and they couldn't hold the chopper any longer so they'd taken him to the hospital.

Fred Sanders was just about to give them the bad news that another evac chopper would be impossible to procure with the fires raging and them all being in service but John was saved explaining that he'd called in a friend when a helicopter with a giant open mouth with huge teeth

painted on the front hub came into view through the smoke. Bobby hopped out from the passenger front side and helped lift Sam in before they took off.

XXXX

John held Sam's hand all the way into the ER bay where his boy was taken from him. He went to the desk, Fred beside him with a canteen filled with the goo from the egg.

Fred, still dressed in his smoke filled turnout gear asked where Dean was as a fit of coughing overtook John. Knowing the hospital staff was a definite plus. The nurse handed Fred two sets of scrubs and directed the men to change out of their dirty clothing.

Dr. Blakely met John in the hallway. John knew that look.

"Mr. Carter. I'm Dr. Blakely, a specialist with our trauma department."

John shook hands trying to see through the heavy wooden door that stood between him and his son.

"I want you to know that we're doing all we can for Dean but I have to tell you that you need to be prepared…" The young doctor paused, putting his hands through his dark hair. God he hated these conversations. He wondered when he'd get used to them because being in the trauma unit they were all too common. His father, also a doctor told him the good ones never do.

"Dean's a strong boy. I told him to fight," John said as if that explained everything.

Dr. Blakely opened the door and let John have a few minutes.

Dean was packed in sterile strips of gauze. He shivered despite being unconscious. John wanted to take his hands but knew he couldn't. Dean's heart monitor showed a barely-there heartbeat. Even with the respirator it was apparent that Dean was struggling.

In his heart, John knew that putting the goo on Dean, was the only thing to do. His son was dying. Fred brought in the ova and held it out to John with his gloved hands.

Fred warned John that he had only minutes to do what he was going to do before the doctors would take Dean from him. John took a deep breath and steeled himself as he and Fred pulled back the gauze and as gently and quickly as they could, coated Dean's burns in it before setting the gauze back in place.

Dean's shivering worsened as he lay on the white table. It would be only a matter of seconds before medical personnel would rush back into the room as his heart monitor sped up.

A nurse stepped in. She placed a stethoscope on Dean's chest. John breathed a sigh of relief when she didn't try to clean the goo away or question it. He figured she must have thought it was left over gel from the defibrillation.

"His heart rate and blood pressure aren't quite where we need it to be yet for surgery, sir. I'm sorry. We have to get him hydrated first as well." The nurse made some notes in Dean's charts and told John the doctor would be back in a few minutes.

Dean woke just as Fred tapped the other canteen in his pocket and seemed to ask for permission to go to his own son. John turned his attention to Dean after shaking hands with Fred and wishing him luck.

Dean's pain filled eyes met John's with the unmistakable question. _Sammy? _

"Easy, Tiger," John said, almost putting his hand on Dean's shoulder as Dean turned his head seeming to look past John. John put his hand on Dean's stomach, one of the few places not burned on his son's torso. "You're going to be okay. Sammy's going to be okay."

Again the eyes asked, this time in full silent sentences. _Then why isn't he here?_

"Sam's getting patched up. Little smoke inhalation and a broken shoulder." _Loss of blood, major cuts and contusions, gunshot wound, concussion … _"He's gonna be fine."

John wanted to split in two. He wanted to be there for both of his boys. He'd let them down.

Tears leaked from the corners of Dean's eyes. The nurse came back in to give him another shot of morphine. She took his temperature with an ear thermometer and seemed pleased with the results.

"His fever's breaking," she said with surprise evident in her voice.

The morphine kicked in and Dean's eyes slid closed after locking with his dad's eyes.

Dreams took Dean.

_Fire. It was everywhere. In his body, on the ceiling with his mother and Jess; licking its evil tongues at his little brother as he lay alone where Dean couldn't save him. _

The doctor came back into Dean's room, followed by a nurse with a clipboard. It took John a minute to remember just who would be paying for this trip to the hospital. _Oh yes, John Carter. _

The doctor lifted the sterile dressing on Dean's chest and John held his breath. The gelatinous muck that he'd smeared liberally onto Dean's torso and legs seemed to have almost absorbed into the skin.

"No way …" the young doctor whistled much to John's surprise. John cringed as the doctor carefully removed a burned layer of skin from Dean's chest, placing it in a plastic container. Under that layer was a pink, shiny patch of skin.

John stood up as the doctor called another nurse in to lift the gauze from Dean's burned leg. She held a tray and shined a light as the doctor gently peeled back layer after layer of skin from Dean's shin all the while making comments John was sure he couldn't help making.

"Holy … What the hell?"

Dean woke crying out in gut wrenching agony, hands flying to the ventilator. John was at his side in seconds.

_God make it stop please! Ahhh! Nooo_! He thought frantically, eyes wide and scared_._

John put his hand back on Dean's stomach as a nurse gently pried his hand from the tube.

"Shh, son, you're doing great. It's gonna be okay."

Burns are one of the most painful injuries a person can experience. The expedited peeling skin was excruciating like nothing Dean had ever felt. His very bones were on fire. He tried to calm his breathing but the tube in his throat added to the agony. He clutched the bed sheets, balling them in his damaged hands. His back was arched so high he was practically standing on his shoulders and heels.

The doctor was frazzled. He checked his watch. The nurse reminded him of the last morphine dosage but there was no choice but to give more pain relief. Dean was going into shock.

The Demerol injection caused Deans' eyelids to droop as he stared at his father who spoke comforting words he couldn't make out. Dean's body flattened slowly from the rigid arch.

The doctor checked Dean's vitals, scribbling on his charts. He was clearly confused.

"Call the OR, tell them to be on standby but we can't operate yet … I don't know if we'll have to. Take this to the lab and have Carmichael from plastics paged."

The doctor seemed to have forgotten John was there. Probably a good thing because John Winchester didn't take kindly to being dismissed.

"I've never seen anything like this before," the young doctor said, sounding elated and unnerved at the same time as he continued peeling looking like he wanted someone to pinch him to see if he was dreaming.

The elation was short lived when Dean's blood pressure bottomed out.

"This regeneration or whatever it is, is taking too much out of this kid. There aren't enough Wheaties in the world for him to eat to replace the kind of calories or energy needed for this …"

The doctor ordered the highest potassium, saline and glucose dose and told the nurse to start another IV in both of Dean's ankles. The living pincushion continued the downward spiral. There was nothing else the doctor could do.

"I'm sorry, sir, we're doing everything we can for your son. I've never seen anything like this before. Until he stabilizes and I can't guarantee that will happen at this point we can't operate or do anything else."

The doctor left instructions with the nurse and left John to prepare for the worse and say goodbye in case the seemingly inevitable happened.

John stood over Dean's bed and bit back a sob as another John's song popped into his head as he looked at his oldest. _Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy, oh what a joy_. John brushed back Dean's hair unnecessarily as Dean's hair was always short. His hand came away with bits of skin and he choked on bile that rose up in his throat but with morbid fascination he couldn't help but peel back another layer. Underneath was smooth newborn skin. Yet Dean was still dying.

XXXX

John was forced to leave Dean's side as new X-rays were taken. He walked on shaky legs to where Bobby sat with Sam in orthopedics waiting for his bones to be set. Sam was still unconscious and for that John hated to admit he was grateful.

"Bobby, Sam was right. That dragon's egg had some healing properties. Dean's skin is healing but he … the doctor said his body's starving."

John raked a hand through his hair.

"Makes sense," he stated in an annoyingly matter of fact sort of way.

"Babies grow fast, they need lots of nutrition."

John was too tired and worried to follow right away as Bobby handed another jar of the goo from the egg that he'd procured on the helicopter trip to the hospital.

"You need to find a way to give him this. It's pure nutrition for fast growth and regeneration. It's dragon Wheaties."

John took the jar and sped off, entering Dean's room closely followed by Bobby.

"Nurse, there's a code blue next door!" Bobby shouted.

The nurse looked confused but it wasn't outside the realm of possibility that the alarms had malfunctioned so she sped off. There wasn't much to be done for Dean at this point other than monitor vitals and she may be able to save a life.

Bobby jammed the door as John cringed while pulling the ventilator from Dean's throat gently but quickly. Dean's brow knitted in pain and confusion that overrode the painkillers until his eyes popped wide open in complete and never-ending agony.

The door rattled in its jamb as the nurse hollered to be let back in. The heart monitor's leads pulled from Dean's chest making them wail.

_Stop oh God please make it stop. Can't … breathe. Dad? M'gonna die. I'm sorry. Sammy…_

John sat Dean up slightly, the sound of too taut skin on his back cracking and peeling making him want to vomit in sympathy that he didn't have time for. A glass was pressed to Dean's lips and a gelatinous muck filled his mouth choking off the thin trickle of air that kept him alive.

Dean's eyes went wide searching for the demon in his dad knowing that he was being murdered. But the joke was on them. This was a mercy killing. Dean knew he was too damaged to live. He's seen burn victims before, had burnt enough spirits to know all about fire and its insatiable appetite. But Dean thought he'd fight one last fight and get rid of this demon son of a bitch so it wouldn't go after Sam. His hands flew wildly up into John's face and he spat out the muck.

Hallucinations plagued Dean as his father's strong arms pinned him, the pain almost taking him back to darkness. _His father's eyes shone with black liquid as he again tried to force the jar to his lips and Dean saw blood. Initiation._

"Bobby help me, he's fighting it. He thinks I'm trying to kill him!"

Dean's eyes went wide before his body succumbed.

_M'so so sorry, Sammy. Couldn't … Couldn't save you._

Bobby disconnected a piece of the hose from the ventilator and elbowed John out of the way.

"Hold his shoulders down. This has to go in the right place or it will choke him … or not. I don't know. Just hold him."

Bobby straddled Dean's torso and threaded the piece of ventilator tube down Dean's throat, hoping to place it into Dean's stomach tract. The kid was dead without this treatment so any attempt was better than nothing. With a popping sound the tube passed the stomach valve and Bobby tipped the jar into the tube much like filling his old truck with oil. Bobby withdrew the tube as Dean choked, once again wide eyed with agony and hatred. When the tube cleared Dean's mouth, Bobby got off the bed, threw the jar in the garbage and released the door causing the very upset nurse and doctor and a security guard to fall into the room.

"He panicked and pulled the vent. I tripped over the bed tray blocking the door trying to get him to stop struggling," John said lamely, almost passing out with anguish and worry.

The doctor disregarded everything making a beeline for his patient who was blue-lipped and cyanotic. With practiced hands a new airway was inserted and John and Bobby were ushered out. Bobby gave a warning look to John. Any suspicious activity to this already highly unusual case would just make things worse.

A tear slipped from Dean's eyes as the ventilator began its monotonous _click whoosh_ and warmth slid up his arm as a dose of morphine took him away.

"I didn't want to shoot him up like that with his depressed vitals but at this point the pain could take him as easily as anything else," the doctor said.

The nurse just shook her head, never having heard the doctor sound anything but confident in all the time she'd worked with him. The leads were reattached and the roller coaster of patient treatment the doctor was on continued as he charted the results against the last report.

"I just don't believe this. His pressure's back up, nowhere near normal but better."

John's ear pressed to the door, he heard the declaration that Dean was improving. He was using the dragon egg's nutrients to feed his healing tissues now.

XXXX

The doctor stepped from the room and walked up to John. Bobby had gone back to Sam.

"I can't tell you what's going on with your son but I can tell you he's a fighter. At this point the next twenty-four hours is critical. Dr. Carmichael from Plastics has examined your son and his opinion is that any surgery at this point will cause more scarring than letting the burns heal naturally. He's heavily sedated right now. It would likely be a good idea to check on your other son. Oh, and Mr. Carter, no tripping over tables, that could have proven fatal to your son."

The doctor stared after John so hard John could feel his eyes boring into him but he had no time to explain what he had done or why. The doctor would be paid back tenfold for his work. For the first time, the Winchesters had something to pay their bills with even if it wasn't traditional cash. John would leave a note with a sample of dragon ova in the hopes that it could be replicated into synthetic medicine for burn victims in the future. If it worked. If Dean lived…

XXXX

Sam would have been in medicated bliss except for the snapping and popping which were his bones being reset. Then his brother's face swam before him. The half open staring eyes, the once handsome features marred by blood red flesh. And all because he couldn't just grow up and do his job.

He must have passed out several times during the procedure because when he woke he was alone. A mask was fit snugly over his face and when he tried to raise his hands he found to his horror that they were restrained by his side. He lurched up on his heels and shoulders trying to get away.

"Easy, Sam. Stop it. Look at me." Sam focused on the voice knowing Dean must be dead. There was no way John would be here with him if Dean was alive. The last time he'd opened his eyes Bobby had been in the chair beside him.

"Mnn … Dean."

"He's alive, Sam. He's fighting."

Sam tried to focus on his father's face. John's forehead was bandaged and he sat in a chair beside Sam with his leg slightly elevated with a tensor bandage wrapped around his mid thigh. Sam remembered only now seeing his dad hit the tree and slide down it as the dragon took off with him. His dad's injuries only made him feel that much worse.

John stood up wincing slightly and slid Sam's hospital gown down over his shoulders inspecting for burns. There were none. He should have known but he needed to check. Sam shivered at the sudden air and John put the gown back in place and pulled Sam's covers back up.

John's thumb gently pried open Sam's left eye when it closed and he dropped a single tear of liquid from a small bottle from his pocket. He followed by doing the same to Sam's right eye.

Relief Sam didn't know was possible flooded him. The smoke, grit and ash had threatened his eyesight according to the doctors but the scratches on his retinas were diminishing daily to their absolute confusion.

The medications tried to pull Sam back under but he tried again to free his hands. John put his hand on Sam's chest.

"I'll take those off if you promise to stay where you are, Houdini. You kept trying to get up to check on Dean and you fell out of bed right over the rail, do you remember?"

Sam nodded. He thought he'd been dreaming when that happened but the new pain in his hip to add to his list of many testified against him.

"Dad … D-Dean's so burnt. He'll hate m-me. I t-tried to get some of the dragon ova, I really did but I couldn't." Sam's face contorted in pain and mixed with exhaustion and confusion from the drugs as he struggled against his bonds.

"It's okay, Sam. Easy. You have to calm down. Breathe." Sam's shoulders heaved with sobs that caused agony in his splintered collarbones. The exterior wounds had healed completely but the internal bone fractures had been set under heavy sedation. Doctors were at a loss to explain the extent of damage without external wounds. The puncture wounds from the dragon's talons had healed but had left him anemic with blood loss.

"I got some of that goo, Sam. I believed you. I know it was too late to prevent you and Dean from suffering, God son, you can't know how sorry I am for that, but because of you, Dean's going to live, that fireman's son is going to live. You did that. You. All because you didn't listen to me. Don't make that a habit by the way…"

"John's eyes stung with tears. It was harder to praise than to discipline because he had to deal with that look from Sam. Not one of gloating or _I told you so_, no, that wide eyed wonder of a child who'd grown up thinking he wasn't up to par, that brought home A's on his report card only to be told that he hadn't cleaned the guns right, to win a soccer match despite only having been on a team for a week only to be told to run an extra lap because he'd failed to meet his time. What did you say to a kid who had just saved his brother, another person and possibly burn victims around the world?

Sam wouldn't settle completely and not taking no for an answer, John released the brakes on his hospital bed and pushed it down the hallway. Sam watched the lights over his head making him dizzy and nauseas as annoyed hospital personnel asked a very determined John Winchester just what he thought he was doing.

John knew that Sam wasn't going to be okay until he saw Dean for himself. He was never a man of many words, especially not to his youngest who seemed to always have too many.

When the bed stopped, gentle hands turned Sam's face to another bed. Sam automatically regretted trying to sit up, pulling on the restraints and jarring his collarbones at the same time but the face in the other bed was … his brother. Perfect skin settled in lax features, pink undamaged lips wrapped around a ventilator that was being spontaneously triggered once every few seconds by Dean.

The hand on Sam's chest moved to his wrists where the restraints were undone. John helped Sam to sit up slowly and Sam's bloodshot eyes took in every inch of the form on the bed as if inventorying a newborn infant. John watched as Sam counted every one of Dean's toes and fingers. The skin was shiny but perfect.

"He's going to be so hard to live w-with again," Sam gulped smiling through watery tears. "He'll say n-nothing could ruin his good looks."

John let a small chuckle escape from somewhere deep down inside that he thought had died a long time ago. One hand rested on Dean's shoulder, the other on Sam's back helping him stay upright on his bed.

"Both my boys are beautiful," John stated.

Sam just looked at his father, seeing the vulnerability that usually only showed once a year on the anniversary of his mother's death.

"Don't let Dean hear you say that. _Handsome, dad_, that's what he'll say. Cars and women are beautiful."

John seemed not to hear him as he studied Dean and Sam's faces in turn. It was unnerving.

"You're both so much like her…"

Sam had nothing to say to that. He's only seen photographs of his mother. Sometimes he thought he remembered her smiling down at him or blowing raspberries on his tiny baby tummy but he never told anyone that, not even Dean. He gulped down a few of the tears that had managed to get to his lips tired all of a sudden.

"Okay, Tiger, we'll have to get you back to your room again or I'm going to be kicked out of this place."

Sam lay back down and closed his eyes, not wanting to watch the ceiling tiles go by again. The door opened when a small moan was heard.

John turned around hardly daring to breathe. Was it possible?

Dean's eyes cracked open and seemed to focus in a sleepy way on John. Dean tried to turn his head but it was held in place by straps. John managed to catch Sam before he fell after getting off of his bed to lean over Dean.

Dean stayed conscious only long enough to count to two.

_One, Dad. _

_Two, Sam. _

_Good._

XXXX

Fred Sanders knocked before entering Dean's room. He wore a gown and mask, which he shucked upon finding John and the nurse in the room without the protective apparel.

Fred took a long look at the handsome young man in the bed, so very different from when he'd first seen him. He patted the boy's shoulder as John led him into the hallway to talk privately. Before John could take a protective stance Fred embraced him a huge bear hug.

"My son … He's awake. That Bobby fella came back to the burn unit and tipped some of that stuff down his throat and he can talk now, his vocal cords have all but healed. His body is strong enough to fight the infection he had from the burns now. His blood still has traces of infection in it but docs figure he's on the upswing." Fred didn't stop talking for a word in edgewise and continued on about how he'd also applied some to a small child in the burn unit while her parents had gone for coffee. He finally released John who reciprocated the hug with a manly slug on the back.

John sighed in relief. After such a horrendous hunt, the saving people thing had still paid off. It almost came at a price he couldn't afford but it was worth it.

John knew on instinct alone that Fred Sanders was an honest man. He and his family were very much like the Winchesters, saving people in their own way. He arranged for Fred to be the one to give the doctor the sample of dragon ova. There was no way he could take credit for it or allow his boys to, as that would come at the price of his anonymity and his ability to continue the hunt. He didn't even have a suggestion as to what to tell the researchers what exactly the goo was. Because, dragons don't exist and if people believed that maybe they could exist for a little longer, what's another thousand or so years, right?

Fred knew there was something shady about the hero and his brave boys but he preferred not to think on it. Something told him they'd be gone just as soon as they were strong enough. Their secrets were their own, they'd saved his whole world. For some reason it didn't matter anymore that dragons existed, he knew he would never see one again in his lifetime and through all the heartache the encounter had caused, in a different time and place it would have been … magical.

XXXX

Over the next several days, John grew anxious over the number of specialists looking his boys over, particularly interested in Dean since he'd been brought in with third degree burns and now had none. Fred had done his best to distract the doctors away from the Winchesters letting them examine his own son more. It was the least he could do he figured.

The sun was coming up in Dean's ICU room as Dr. Blakely set out to remove the ventilator.

"Okay, Dean, when as I start to remove the tube, I want you to try to cough as strongly as you can to help dislodge it."

Dean nodded. His back arched and he moaned as John held his hand while he coughed as strongly as he could manage. He could swear the vent was embedded with nails as it scraped up his esophagus finally coming free with a pop and a suctioning noise. The doctor had forgotten to disconnect the vent from the monitors so it wailed loudly when it came free from Dean.

"Sorry," Dr. Blakely apologized but Dean was glad for the noise and distraction because he was sure he'd sobbed a bit when the contraption finally came free. He rubbed at his eyes and tried to massage his throat as John was handed a cup of ice chips to feed to his son. John's hands shook, rattling the ice, the screaming monitor a stark reminder of what he'd almost lost.

Dean didn't manage to speak before he fell asleep.

XXXX

Sam's long legs bent awkwardly in the wheelchair as he was taken to his new room. The door opened to reveal two beds. Someone was sleeping in the other. He wondered if he'd been put in with another old grouch.

The nurse helped him settle into his new bed and showed him the remote for the T.V. and the call button and where the bathroom was and other helpful hints. John and Bobby had finally gone for something to eat and Sam looked forward to a few minutes where someone wasn't being a mother hen to him.

Sam turned the television on low, having reached out to quietly close the curtain between the beds for some privacy. He blinked away the blurriness that was improving but still worrisome.

"National Geographic, really?" came a raspy voice from the other side of the room.

Sam stilled barely able to believe his ears.

"D-Dean!" he cried, opening the curtain so vigorously that he almost fell out of bed.

"In the flesh book-boy. And good looking flesh still, too." Dean's voice betrayed the joke he tried to put in his tone.

Sam found his voice after he'd drank in every part of his brother's face as best he could. He really wanted to make fun of Dean's vanity but he just couldn't find it in himself at this point.

"Dad says you have to share the nurses, Dean," Sam said, struggling to his feet, his legs feeling like a new born colt's.

"Whoa, what do you think you're doing, boy," came Bobby's voice. Until he saw that Dean was awake.

"Antagonizing your brother already ya idjit?" Bobby asked affectionately helping Sam limp to Dean's bedside.

"Okay, Sammy?" Dean asked, apparently tired out from their two-second conversation.

Sam wanted to be annoyed again. He really did. But Dean's eyes were closing fast.

"Yeah, big brother. I'm okay. Jerk."

Dean's eyes closed. "Bitch."

XXXX

John and Bobby waited until Sam and Dean were able to eat solid foods and at least walk a bit before declaring that it was time to go. Fred had said his goodbyes and Sam and Dean had met his son who planned on returning to his volunteer firefighting position as soon as he was able. The dragon ova was on its way to a lab for further study and arrangements were made for the Winchesters to stay with Bobby until their full health returned.

Dean grumbled about riding in the backseat of the Impala as his father placed a fleece blanket on his and Sam's laps and pillows beside them.

"M'not four,"

"Nope, you're not," John said and damned if he didn't flinch when Dean said that.

_Take your brother and go, now Dean! _

"I'm gonna take care of both of you until you're fully healed."

The family had changed a lot over the last year and John knew he was losing Sam to something bigger that he couldn't hide him from, that he couldn't distract him from. He knew Dean needed him right now. Kid had a lot of pain still and would never admit it. But for now, he was going to be their father. He slid behind the wheel remembering the huge eyes that hovered down upon him from sky, measuring his worth as she fought for her family as the arrow killed the earth at his feet.

He'd let her go. They talked about her on their way to Bobby's. To everyone else her secret would remain her own. _But dragons do exist, Sammy._

A dragon lives forever  
But not so little boys  
Painted wings and giant rings  
Make way for other toys.


End file.
